


Twenty Dollars and a Stain on the Couch

by Cheylouwho, valzilla



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mafia AU, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Shooting Guns, Strangers to Lovers, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheylouwho/pseuds/Cheylouwho, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valzilla/pseuds/valzilla
Summary: Gingersnaps, a shady stripper bar in the bad side of town, is a popular place for people like Damien Thorn and his father, a man so feared in the community that few know him other than his nickname of 'Satan'. It's the perfect place for organizing deals, trading drugs, and getting a cheap dance- perhaps something more if you're willing to pay. When a dancer with an angel tattoo catches Damien's attention, it sets off a dangerous chain of events, pulling everyone connected down with them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> C: Hello everyone! This is collaborative fic with Valery that we are super excited to be sharing with you. It's going to be pretty long but also has a lot of heavy content, so please heed the content tags that will be updated as we post more. I will apologize for exactly 1 thing and that's the apparent bastardization of Cartman's character, but I promise that is explained later on. Thank you for reading!

Neon lights fluttered on a back alley street’s signage, a stark contrast to the drizzle of rain and soft flickering lamplight keeping the dark of early morning away from the otherwise quiet road. Cars filled the parking lot of one particular establishment, a run down building that had seen better days; above the entrance, the name  _ Gingersnaps  _ was written in gold, rusting letters. It was a place easily missed given its location on the bad side of town, but that was its appeal for most customers.

Customers like Damien Thorn.

Sitting atop a cushion stained with god knew what, Damien felt just as bored and tired as usual as he watched his father continue out negotiations for some deal he could care less about. Frankly, he wasn’t even listening to the details, staring into the distance as the music from a blown out speaker throbbed in his ears. Strip clubs were probably one of his least favorite places in the whole world, especially this one, but for people like his father this was the most ideal location to carry out the family business. For a man so feared that whispers only dared to refer to him as ‘Satan’, it was low profile, away from prying eyes and the local law enforcement. 

“Damien,” his tall, intimidating father said from beside him, drawing back his attention. The other man who Damien could only assume was some other lesser crime syndicate’s lackey was holding out his hand for him to shake out of courtesy. 

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” Damien said with as fake a smile as he could muster, shaking the man’s hand and not even bothering to hide the disgust as he wiped the sweat off on his designer suit immediately afterwards. He could get away with it. He was the heir to the Thorn family, after all. Nobody would dare show disrespect.

“Thank you,” the other man said, seeming to want to wrap this up as quickly as possible as he turned back to Damien’s father. 

Damien just let out a sigh, resting his elbows against the table as he looked around the room for anything more interesting amidst the sensory overload of lights and sound. From the back of the room, the owner of the club was speaking quietly with another shady looking man, exchanging dollar bills and slipping a few sealed packets. They were inspected as quickly as they were stored, a larger deal obviously going on just outside of the building. “Bastard,” he muttered, watching as Eric Cartman waved him off while lighting a cigar. He despised competition; he’d find out eventually who was capturing his attention and what it would take to get rid of them.

A cough from beside him again drew his attention. “You’re excused,” his father said, a firmness in his voice that meant for Damien to listen and go do something else for a while. “I’ll handle the rest. Meet you in the car later.”

It wasn’t like he had been doing anything anyway. It was mostly for appearances sake. “Yes sir,” he sighed, sliding out of the red velvet booth to wander about. It didn’t take long for him to find his way to the bar, sitting down on a seat just torn up enough for him to bother using. “Scotch on the rocks,” he said, catching the attention of the young man behind the bar.

“How could I have guessed it was you?” the bartender teased, turning around with a cigarette balanced delicately between his teeth. He polished a glass before setting it on the counter, words slightly slurred. “Not like you’re here every other night.”

“Shit, Mccormick, it’s barely past midnight and you’re already half drunk?” Damien spoke to him casually, actually having become quite fond of him. It was an unlikely friendship, but Kenny was one of the few people who treated him like an actual person, not just another pawn in the grand scheme of his father’s business. 

Kenny just gave him another glance as he finished mixing his drink, pouring it into the glass and sliding it his direction. “Secrets, secrets,  _ devil boy.  _ You ought to know how to keep one.” He removed the cigarette from his mouth, putting it out on a tackily embellished ashtray on the counter. “You wouldn’t spill the deal you just made over there, would ya? I won’t spill mine.”

Damien took a sip, the taste as familiar by this point as drinking water. “Mine involves shit that could get everyone here arrested, including you. Yours involves you pretending you didn’t drink half a bottle of vodka on the job while your boss was busy trading for drugs.” Cartman was notorious for being a tightwad, and anything deemed a waste of time or cash was a big deal to him.

Kenny didn’t seem to care whatsoever, chuckling as he leaned against the counter. “You know me too well, devil boy. Let’s just keep that on the down low, right? Helps me along with this shitty, low wage bullshit. Boss doesn’t need to know.”

Damien had finished his drink, setting it back on the counter. “You know, you’ve been here for a while, I could have offered you something better than this.”

“Nah. I prefer to live a quiet life, not too big on the whole crime thing. I’ve got my sister to take care of back at home, I can’t run around risking my life like you can.”

“You say that as if I’m not taking a risk just being in this god forsaken building.” But, if Damien were to be honest, he really wasn’t risking anything at all. If they got caught, his father and him would have a secure way to escape; and even if they didn’t, it wasn’t like Damien had anyone who he particularly cared about.

Kenny let out a sharp exhale through his nose, grabbing a glass and quietly pouring himself another shot of vodka below the bar counter. “You ever been here long enough to see the show?” he asked, tilting his head towards the stage to try and change the topic. It was momentarily empty, but patrons were already gathering around in anticipation. “Boss’ got some of the best dancers around. Not much of a compliment when you consider where this fuckin’ place is located, but ya know.”

Damien let out a snort. “Once or twice.” Back when he was new to the scene and everything was exciting, he had loved following his father around. Now it was a rut, and he didn’t bother paying attention to such unimportant things. “I doubt they’re any better than some other stripper on a different street under a different name. It’s all the same, you know.” And yet, his eyes drifted to the stage, a little curious.

Kenny rested an elbow on the counter, cheek in his hand as he peered over with him. The change in light and music made the crowd gathering start to heckle. Slowly, the volume of their chants began to rise.

_ Angel! Angel! Angel! _

With a burst of dramatic light, a figure emerged from the darkness behind a curtain at the far end of the room.

Damien immediately dropped his no-frills attitude, needing to double check that his jaw hadn’t fallen off onto the floor as the dancer he could only assume to be Angel made his way up the stairs and onto the stage, hips swaying hypnotically in time with the music. He was a bit of a distance away but every detail was so clear, from the dark makeup smeared on his eyes and the shimmer of the lipgloss on his lips, the way his black leather shorts hugged his curves and his long boots accentuated his legs, a studded collar around his neck for show. As he turned around to reach for the pole, a tattoo of angel wings sat neatly between his shoulder blades. It was a glaring choice for his stage name.

Selfishly, he swore every movement and glance his direction the dancer made was for him and him alone. Nearly sweating at the sight, this was  _ absolutely  _ someone he had never seen on the stage before. Swallowing dryly, the alcohol not helping, he glanced at Kenny. “Since when has  _ he  _ been here?”

“Couple of months,” Kenny said casually. “Dunno much about him.” He pulled a new cigarette from his front pocket, setting it between his teeth and getting his lighter out. “He’s pretty quiet, actually. Me and Scott were taking bets for a while if he could even speak. Eric’s pretty fond of him. Brings in good money. He’s a popular little thing.”

Damien glanced over towards Eric, finding him looking at the stripper with a lustful gaze that made his blood boil. “Quiet, huh.” He leaned back on the bar, an elbow holding his weight. “I didn’t think Cartman would be calling for more dancers. Doesn’t he make enough off this place, or could he not stand keeping his hands off desperate kids for more than a couple of weeks?” It would explain though why trades and deals had gotten a little harder to make now that the club was gaining popularity. It was too full and too dangerous. With as little emotion as he could manage, he turned back to Kenny. “When does he get off work?”

Kenny let out a snort, nearly dropping his freshly lit cigarette. “Oof, careful there, devil boy, you know not to touch the merchandise,” he teased. “Not for a while, though. He’s real popular around her after his show, you know. Eric likes to show him off. Hardly leaves his side. Unless you’ve got cash handy…” he let out a huff, smoke drifting up into the already hazy air. “I wouldn’t push your luck.”

Damien didn’t hesitate to pull a wad of bills from his inner jacket pocket, letting the smallest shine of a gun peek through, slapping it on the counter. “This enough?” he asked, knowing he had plenty to guarantee his spot as first in line for a private dance. Yes, Angel was quite beautiful, but Damien was intrigued further than that. With how Kenny had described Cartman’s attitude though, paying was going to be the only way to get a word in.

“Careful, don’t go waving that shit around in a place like this,” Kenny scolded, pushing the cash back towards him. “I don’t care who you are, keep that under wraps. But while you’re at it…” he held out a hand, giving him a toothy grin, “tip your bartender, would ya?”

“Fine.” Damien slipped a few bills out of his bundle, at least triple what Kenny could expect as an average tip. He set it on the counter, already turning away. “Put it aside for your sister’s college fund or something,” he muttered, already making his way across the room. The only thing he could look at was the way the light caught Angel’s hair like a halo.

Closer to the stage were more disgusting chairs and booths, the smell of smoke and alcohol and sweat more pungent than ever. With the pounding of music and the hollers of disgusting men crowding the stage, Damien almost wanted to turn right back around. Instead he pressed on, finding Eric sitting casually in the front row with a fat cigar in his mouth.

  
“Ah, Thorn,” he said, just barely audible over the music as he approached. “Stuck around after a deal, huh? That’s not typical for…” he gave him a quick once over before looking back at the stage. “Your  _ type _ .”

“I wanted a drink,” Damien responded bluntly, not appreciating his tone or the way he was looking up at the stage. “Your bartender knows how to advertise, though. How much for a private dance? First one, upfront cash, the back room I know you have for big spenders.” He motioned with his chin towards the stage.

Eric glanced his way again before letting out a slow, wheezing laugh. He carefully pulled his cigar from his mouth, blowing the smoke in his direction. “You sure you can pay, mafia baby? Did daddy give you a good allowance?” His laughing grew louder before he choked, covering his mouth with his fist. “He’s my best slut. Someone else got you beat at six hundred right now. Wanna outbid?”

“One grand,” he said coldly, not even flinching. “If anyone wants to try to go higher, know that I’ll outbid them.” Spoiled from the day he was born, Damien could get anything he wanted.

“Oh?” Eric asked. “In that case, sold. Take your time, long as I get him back when you’re done.” He seemed amused as the show on the stage finished up, more customers waving dollar bills as Angel made his way back down the stairs. He plucked them from their hands if they didn’t get tucked into his outfit first. Petite with an hourglass-like figure, the closer he came the more Damien noticed his flaws. Skin covered with little scars messily slathered with foundation, bruises disguised with heavy makeup… he sauntered with a slight limp before plopping himself right onto Eric’s lap, already pulling bills from his pockets and placing them into his hand.

Suddenly, that delicate little face turned upwards, meeting eyes with Damien. “Who’s this?” His voice was soft, almost trembling with shyness. 

It was completely different than what was expected after his performance, taking Damien off guard. The more he looked at him, the more he felt he could compare Angel to a deer lost in the headlights, like he hadn’t moved quickly enough last time he had braved the asphalt and feared every crossing ahead of him. “T-Thorn,” he said, not meaning to stutter. He pulled the cash from his pocket and counted it out loud, watching as Angel’s eyes went wide at the high amount. “I’m your first customer tonight.” 

“Oh,” he said softly, chewing on his lip as he watched Eric count the cash a second time for good measure. “Nice to meet you.”

The more Damien looked at him, the more he worried about accidentally touching him the wrong way and shattering him like a glass trinket. It almost made him want to back out.

Almost.

“He paid damn good money for this, so make his night. Got it, doll?” Eric hissed, catching Angel by the loop of his collar only to press a possessive kiss to his lips. “Off you go, behave yourself.” He practically shoved him Damien’s direction. 

Despite his stumbling like a deer on ice, Angel quickly collected himself, standing up tall and putting back on his familiar stage character. 

Damien just eyed his lips, noticing a healing split on the bottom one. They still looked so soft, though, and he was paying for some private time… “Alright, baby,” he said, trying to play it cool, “you gonna make me happy tonight?” He’d never gotten a dance before, finding it awkward and frivolous, but he’d rented a private room and scored the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. Despite all the warning signs, he was going to get out of this what he paid for.

Angel quickly glued himself to his side, grabbing for one of his arms just above the elbow. With a low hum, he began to lead him towards their room. “Yeah,  _ daddy _ , whatever you want,” he cooed, voice dropping at least an octave compared to what Damien had just heard minutes before.

He wondered how many of his lines were simply autopilot. He wondered how many men he had called ‘daddy’ simply for show. How many people’s laps he had sat on, how many bills he had collected.

He wondered why someone like him could have ever ended up in a place like this. 

Inside the room, Damien sat down on the dingy couch, carefully avoiding some  _ distasteful  _ spots he could only assume to be leftovers from a more intimate escapade. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Angel didn’t have to be told twice, slowly trailing his hands along his body’s curves as he swayed his hips. His eyes were closed tightly, listening to the dull thump of music muffled by the thick walls of the room. It was as if nobody else in the world existed, making his way over to Damien with long, heavy strides. “Do you like it?” he asked, sounding shy again. “Do you like  _ me _ ?”

Damien wasn’t sure ‘like’ was the most fitting word, but he was into it, especially when Angel swung a leg up and climbed onto his lap, perching there for a moment. He kept his hands to himself, knowing the rules, but that didn’t stop him from grinding back against him. “You’re cute, that’s for sure.”

Angel let out a giggle, still appearing to force it as he twirled his shoulder-length hair between a few fingers. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” he asked, catching sight of the familiar shape close to his chest. He pressed closer anyhow, whispering into his ear. “Boss said for a tip I can give you the whole nine yards, you just gotta say the words.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t a stranger to illegal crimes, especially prostitution, but hearing it come out of such an adorable face with a voice to match made him pause. “How much for  _ ten  _ yards?” he asked anyway, selfishly reaching into his pocket.

“Boss said I ought to charge a couple hundred,” Angel said, wanting to get this over with, “but I can drop to a hundred fifty.” He didn’t mind bargaining for someone so polite. After all, it wasn’t like he kept any of his money. 

Damien was unaware of that, however. “For such a pretty face, I’ll make it five hundred and you can get yourself something nice.” He pulled at the edge of Angel’s shorts, tucking in a nice stack of bills with the most ginger of movements. 

Angel let out a sound of surprise. Surely Eric would be angry if he pocketed any of it, but he’d never been tipped this much before… “Th-thank you,” he muttered, letting his guard drop a little and his softer voice peek through. That was quickly stopped with a shake of his head, reminding himself that he needed to get on with his job. “You’re generous,” he said, trying to get back into character. “Who exactly  _ are  _ you?”

“Consider yourself lucky, I’m not usually like this.” Angel had struck something in him, something that made him almost disgustingly soft. “I’m… the son of someone influential, how about we leave it at that?” He was already unzipping himself, trying to make the process easier. “All you need to focus on is me right now.”

Angel dropped his head, hands getting to work. “Forgive me,” he muttered, “I know better than to talk to my clients.” There was the click of lube before giving Damien his full attention.

“You can talk to me,” Damien hummed. He wasn’t usually one to talk, only speaking briefly to his father and maybe a chat with Kenny on a given day, but he wouldn’t deny that he loved Angel’s sweet voice and gentle accent. “I like a good conversation.” False, but he would pretend to be interested as long as he had him.

“Technically I’m not supposed to talk to you,” Angel insisted, continuing his prep almost methodically. There was no emotion behind his actions. “I just do my job and keep my mouth shut… t-they usually like that.”

“They?”

“The other customers.” He bit his lip, fingers sliding to pull down his own shorts now. “But you’re a… different kind of customer,  _ aren’t you? _ ”

“I suppose I am,” Damien shrugged, watching the show with curiosity. “But I don’t think you should hide a pretty voice like that.” He wanted to be different. He wanted Angel to remember him.

And yet, he didn’t want to think of what that implied of other customers.

“It’ll sound better,” Angel whispered in his ear, “when you’re inside me.” The familiar routine gave him comfort from the odd man trying to speak to him. He didn’t just want a quick fuck like the others did, or to get off abusing him without any consequence. He lined himself up and sunk down, riding him slow and steady and making sure to moan loud enough to make his money’s worth.

“You’re right, your voice is cute,” Damien chuckled through his own fair share of grunts.

“Yeah,” Angel muttered, closing his eyes with a slight wince as the man below him reached climax, filling him raw. He took the moment of stillness to catch his breath, watching Damien with an exhausted expression. He couldn’t help but admire the features of his face with how close they were now. “You alright?”

Damien didn’t respond for a moment, his own hands sliding downward. “But you didn’t finish,” he said bluntly.

“Huh?” Angel was taken completely off guard, hands finding Damien’s shoulders for balance as his body trembled. It wasn’t often someone was so kind as to think of him in return, usually when someone was good at hitting his sweet spot or if he’d pleased Eric enough with a good night’s work. Maybe this strange man wasn’t so selfish as he thought. It didn’t take long at all for him to finish into his hand.

Damien wiped his hand on the seat, just creating another suspiciously colored stain. “There we go. Now we’re even.” Even if he’d paid for the service, his father had taught him manners. Stand up straight, wear the right kind of suit, shoot first before your enemy, get your partner off. Gentlemanly things.

Angel was already cleaning himself off, fixing his outfit before stumbling to his feet. “Thank you, sir,” he said softly, but he sounded much more vulnerable than before as he pulled the money Damien had tucked in his waistband back out. He counted it, slid a few bills back into his pocket, then kept the rest in hand for Eric. 

Damien noticed his odd behavior, but didn’t say anything. He simply readjusted his tie and tucked in his shirt. “Thanks for the hour,” he said as casually as he could muster, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve got yourself a regular.” He would certainly stay later next time if this was what he could get out of it. “When can I expect to see you again?”

Angel gave a shy smile. “Whenever you come back,” he said, stepping closer. He tried to convince himself he was only being flirty because it was his job, grabbing Damien by the collar of his shirt to bend him down enough to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” With money in hand, he sauntered out of the room to go find Eric, praying he wouldn’t suspect the missing money. 

Damien let the corners of his mouth turn up, barely forming a smile. As he turned to leave the room after him and head towards the parking lot to meet with his father, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“So will I.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v: hey yall its valery, sorry i was absent last time but anyway we both hope that you guys like this chapter and that you guys want to see more of how this story will go   
> but anyways, thanks for the sweet comments and support! we hope we keep living up to your expectations!
> 
> c: yeah sorry got excited and i posted it before she could write a note drfjghjgfds anyway I wish the same! Enjoy!

“So, how much money did he cough up?”

Angel was back on Eric’s lap, trying not to inhale the puffs of smoke coming from the freshly lit cigar. “Well, whatever he gave you to start,” he said, struggling to make calculations in his head of how much he’d put aside for himself. “U-um, four hundred and fifty for the  _ extra _ stuff.”

“Funny,” Eric said lowly, catching Angel’s jaw between his fingers and turning his face to meet his eyes, “because I overheard that he paid  _ half a grand _ . I’m missing fifty dollars,  _ dollface _ , you didn’t pocket it, did you? We know that’s against the rules.” His voice was dripping with sweetness, yet so dangerous it made Angel’s heart pound faster.

“I…” He squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation for whatever punishment would come his way. He couldn’t lie again, but he knew better than to stir up trouble with Eric. He had given him a job and a place to stay, so it wasn’t exactly in his best interest to cause a scene. To keep his security and safety, he had to obey. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, slipping a hand into his pocket and pulling out the remaining bills.

“Thought so,” Eric said, clicking his tongue in amusement as the money was pressed into his hand. Letting go of Angel’s jaw, he instead grabbed at the collar around his neck again, tugging him close. “Remember who you belong to,” he hissed right into his ear. With that, he shoved him away. Causing a scene in public would be bad business after all; he could deal with him later. 

“Yes sir,” Angel said, stumbling away. He felt ashamed of himself despite earning that tip fair and square, but he didn’t dare cry-- that would smudge his mascara, and he still had plenty of eager customers for the night. Saddened by the knowledge that nobody would be quite like the strange man who had taken so much care just to speak with him, he set off back to work. 

From the sidelines nearby, keenly aware of the watering eyes Angel had, another dancer struggled to finish his current lapdance before he could help comfort him. Mocha, as he had come to be begged for by his adoring crowd of fans, knew it was going to be a while until he could get to him. Customers couldn’t get enough of his dances or his sharp tongue, so he would be busy until the early hours of the morning. All he could do was send him an encouraging smile before returning to his patron, smacking away hands with a playful scolding. 

Angel sent a smile back, trying to play it off that he was fine as he eyed the stacks of bills his friend had already accumulated. Mocha, or as he had come to know him as Tweek (poor kid, Angel had thought, his parents must have really hated him) was quite the popular stripper himself. The third of their group, Buttercup, was another petite blonde who had been with Eric for longer than anybody knew. Together they were responsible for keeping the place afloat despite how impossible that could be for just three dancers.

“Hey, baby, you busy?” A man was asking, hands grabbing at Angel as he was pulled from his thoughts. Cash was already being waved in his face, and all he could do was take it.

“No, I’m free,” Angel said back, unable to handle much more tonight. He let himself mentally check out, offering his best smile before being led away from the busy scene. 

Gaze still lingering from across the room, Mocha couldn’t help the look of concern on his face as he rushed to finish his dance. Grabbing the money a bit hastily, he decided to ignore the crowd trying to follow him as he hurried towards the back room where he knew Buttercup would still be getting ready. Pushing through the curtain, he let his facade drop, rubbing at his temple in exhaustion. “Hey, Leo.”

Buttercup lifted his head from his careful work on his makeup in the mirror, getting ready for his show. He was as bubbly as ever despite the grating circumstances. “Busy out there?” he asked, barely glancing his way as he dragged a mascara wand across long eyelashes. 

“Yeah.” Mocha relaxed just enough to ironically let a few of his little ticks peek through that he tried so hard to suppress. “But Pip is, you know, getting out of it again.” He tried to focus on the meticulous movement of the wand instead of the way his hands would have shaken doing it himself.

“Oh.” Buttercup’s expression shifted, lowering his brush. “Not again… seems like he’s gettin’ that way every night now, doesn’t it?” With a sigh, he went back to work, glancing at Mocha through the mirror. “I’ll try to keep an eye out tonight if I can. Hope nobody is roughin’ the poor guy up too badly.” The week before, all three of them had a terribly unlucky run with some rowdy customers. 

“I’m looking out too, but you know…” Mocha sat down in the seat beside him, fingers picking at the dead skin on his thumb, “I just hope it doesn’t get too bad.” Angel was the youngest of the group, and the other two felt a constant duty to look out for him.

Buttercup just took the other’s chin gently in his hand, moving the mascara wand to help touch him up. “Don’tcha worry about it. We’ve made it through every night before, right?”

Barely, but he was right. Mocha cracked a smile. “Thanks,” he said softly. “It’s  _ really _ busy out there tonight. You’ll probably get an encore-- be careful, okay?”

“I’m always careful,” Buttercup promised, giving him a little pat on the cheek. “Now off you go before Eric realizes you’ve been back here.”

Mocha gave him another smile, taking his hand and squeezing it for only a moment before standing up and heading back out of the room, immediately flagged down for another private dance. In a world so cruel, the three of them had to look out for each other. They were all they had. 

* * *

If anything could get Kenny through another night of work, it was the way Buttercup sent him glances all through his routine from across the room. There was never much between them- shy smiles, quick glances, maybe a drink at the end of the night with a little chatter- but boy, did he adore him. Under the guise of polishing more glasses, he kept his attention on him the whole routine. He could only pray that he would have enough time before closing to say hello. As the dance ended and Buttercup was swallowed back up into the crowd of eager customers, his heart ached at the knowledge he would probably never get to be one of them. Putting on an easygoing expression, he turned back to the customer still sitting at the bar with a glass in hand, taking his sweet time sipping it down. “Buying yourself some time, Tucker? Would you prefer some caffeine to perk yourself up?”

The dark-haired man across from him looked utterly exhausted as he lifted his head, taking another slow sip. “Maybe,” he said softly, glancing back over his shoulder towards where Mocha was busy at work. “You know I’m not allowed in here without cash to burn. If I were a rich man, I’d get a dance rather than a shitty drink.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Or finally buy his freedom. Got a spare cigarette?” 

Kenny pulled one from his front pocket, handing it over before flicking his lighter. “I thought he was giving you the upper hand in the market, what do you mean you’re flat on cash? Isn’t that the whole damn point of keeping him around?” It wasn’t exactly a secret that the stripper had access to meth that gangs like Craig’s wouldn’t pass up. Eric was one of their best customers.

“I don’t  _ keep him around _ ,” Craig said, furrowing his brow. “I love him.” He set his empty glass on the counter, sitting up a little taller. “He was doing alright, but now someone downtown got us beat. Marsh or whatever, what a fucking nightmare…” All his savings, completely gone, with any shred of hope. Blowing a perfect ring of smoke, he closed his eyes to keep himself from showing the frustration bubbling in his stomach. “Cartman’s pissed at me for missing a shipment. I said it was my fault so Mocha wouldn’t get the brunt of it.” He liked Kenny, but not enough to use his partner’s real name. He was friendly, too friendly, and he had a feeling information like that would end up backfiring in is face. 

Kenny just hummed, thinking about what he’d said. “Stanley Marsh? I figured. You know him? Tall guy, a little pale, shaggy black hair?” If Craig wasn’t so tan, they would look quite a bit alike. “Because… earlier today, I saw someone I hadn’t seen before. Thought you just hired someone new instead. Maybe Cartman just got a little too impatient to wait for a late shipment.”

“Mother  _ fucker _ !” Craig nearly shouted, slamming his fist hard enough against the bar table to knock over his empty glass. “Son of a bitch promised he’d wait!” Yet there was nothing he could do; marching up to Eric and asking questions was a dangerous game with how he held Mocha like a carrot on a stick above his head. He wasn’t about to get him hurt because of his impulsive actions. “I...I’ll just have to get him more at a cheaper price. That bastard Marsh isn’t getting a monopoly on  _ my  _ business.” 

Kenny didn’t react to the outburst, going back to rearranging glasses and bottles. “Last I heard was that he had some guy nearby helping to keep him out of the cop’s eyes. Real religious, real nice, and  _ real  _ good at covering his tracks.” The ridiculously trustworthy type that in the end made him that much more suspicious. 

Craig raised a brow. “How do you know these things?” he asked.

Kenny gave him a sly smile, sliding a glass to another customer just a little down the way. “I’m just a bartender,” he said casually. “My customers have loose lips.”

Craig didn’t believe that, but decided to let it go. He had better things to attend to now. “I’m sure I can talk to this guy and persuade him towards a deal. And if not… well, I have a reputation.” 

“A reputation for being a complete moron,” Kenny said with a snort. “Careful, you’re not the only one with resources and a team. Marsh isn’t something to sneeze at.” Craig may have a leg up on the meth trade, and a few other drugs, but there were larger cartels dealing things much more dangerous with more and more popping up every day. There was only so much the city could handle before the police force was going to get themselves together enough to put a stop to it. 

“I just need to reestablish my position,” Craig insisted, giving another huff on the cigarette before putting it out on the ashtray. “I’ll convince Cartman I’m top dog again. Mocha’s staying in the green, so he’s willing to make deals with me…” He sighed, lowering his head. “Just wish I could get him out of here.” Desperate times led to desperate measures, and now Eric practically owned him with the never-ending debt they seemed to acquire. 

Kenny knew the story all too well, giving him a sympathetic look. Eric was known for taking in young, desperate men during their time of need under the promise of protection and safety. Instead, they practically signed a lease to the devil, never able to quite repay the debts he had placed on them to the point where not even the biggest spender couldn’t free them.

Of course, it was all done that way on purpose. 

“Mocha is doing alright,” Kenny tried to assure him.

“Alright isn’t  _ good _ .” Craig was still staring at him, watching him trade customers like it was no big deal. “I just want the best for him. We’ve known each other since we were kids, it fucking sucks I can’t just…” He shook his head, furrowing his brows. It fucking sucked he hadn’t been there for him until it was too late. “If I could just make a  _ little  _ more, I...I could maybe set things right.”

“Mmm.” Kenny wished he could do something, but his situation kept him from much other than give advice. “If I hear anything about Marsh or the guy helping him out, you’ll be the first to know, how about that?” The best chance Craig had to get his boyfriend out of here was to gain a monopoly. Kenny knew if it had been him and Buttercup, he would appreciate the same.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Craig said, cracking the smallest of smiles. From the corner of his eye he could see Mocha stumbling out of the crowd, looking exhausted and trying to take a minute to breathe. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered, trying to seize the opportunity before Eric could catch them having a conversation during work hours. Making eye contact, both of them moved towards each other as inconspicuously as possible, meeting in the middle near the chairs at the stage. 

“Hi, tiger,” Mocha purred, trying to keep up appearances as he practically melted into his arms. He knew better than to be getting distracted, knowing Eric would scold him for it later, but with how things were going Craig was the only person he wanted to see. “Did you want a dance?”

As the other patrons around them groaned, still trying to get Mocha’s attention, Craig leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “You doing alright tonight? Any news about the shipment?” The two fell into a nearby chair, Mocha on his lap as he tried to pretend to be just another customer. For show, he pulled a few bills from his pocket and tucked them into his shorts. 

“I’m doing okay. Just a little tired, but it’s alright.” He lifted his leg around Craig’s waist, pulling him closer. “Shipment should come in tomorrow morning but… competition has been rough. New people are coming in and trying to sabotage shipments or even steal them.” 

“I’m aware.” Craig could feel Mocha grinding down against him. “I think I know who it is, too.”

“Who?”

“Stanley. Stanley Marsh.” Craig dared to kiss him, praying Eric wasn’t paying any attention. “He’s downtown and Kenny told me some info about his supplier.”

Mocha clicked his tongue, swatting at his wandering hands. “You know the rules, hands off,” he teased with a genuine smile. “And Stanley Marsh? Who’s that? Who’s his supplier?” The name did sound somewhat familiar.

“Dunno yet,” he admitted, glancing across the room and accidentally making eye contact with Eric. “Fucking shit, fuck,” he muttered, shuffling in his pocket for a few more bills to press into his hands. “Finish up,  _ he’s  _ watching us.”

Mocha tried to keep his concerns below his skin as he finished the dance. “Pick me up at closing so I don’t have to cab?” he asked, kissing his cheek.  
  
“Always.”

With a smile on his lips, Mocha gave him a little wave before standing up and vanishing right back into the crowd he had come from, back into character. There was no way Craig would leave him high and dry, not for a deal, not for a shipment, not for  _ anything _ . Mocha was the most precious thing to him, and he didn’t want to leave him in the disgusting place a minute longer than he had to. Standing up to go back to the bar and buy time, he was nearly knocked over as someone shoved past him. 

“Hey, watch it,” he started, but as soon as he caught sight of the winged tattoo, he shut his mouth. With those watering eyes and the sound of muffled sobs, it couldn’t be good. “M-Mocha!” he called back into the crowd, hoping to catch his attention again.

Mocha turned right back around, eyes trying to focus on what was going on. With Eric standing up, he knew he had to beat him to the punch, darting across the room and weaving between bodies. There was nothing their boss hated more than breaking character. “Angel!”

Angel stumbled again, throwing his hands over his face as Mocha caught up to him, trying to escort him towards the back room. Dizzy and overwhelmed, his skin burned with new marks. “I can’t do it, I can’t do it,” he babbled, on the verge of a breakdown.

“Hey, what the fuck do you two think you’re doing?!” Eric shouted from behind them.

“W-We just need to touch up for a moment,” Mocha insisted, pushing Angel along in front of him as if to guard him with his own body. He was going into a panic, but he would be damned to break down at a time like this. “Fixing makeup!” They both hurried past the curtain.

“I don’t pay you to stand around!” He didn’t pay them at all. Eric followed in anyway, pointing a finger at them both. “If you’re supposed to be out on the floor, you’re out on the damn floor!” And with money still in Angel’s pockets, no less. In a show of dominance he approached them both, snatching it away from him with force. “Trying to pocket shit again, are you? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Angel let out a shaking sob, curling further into Mocha’s arms. “I promise I wasn’t, I just need a break, t-two minutes!”

“Two minutes, please,” Mocha pleaded. “Two minutes, I’ll work for any money that was lost!” He was getting desperate, the cries of the smaller boy making his heart ache. “I’ll make it up, I p--”

He immediately recoiled with a hand to his cheek, the sting forcing him into silence.

“Enough,” Eric demanded, counting the stolen money in front of them before tucking it into his pocket. “You’re both on thin fucking ice. Don’t forget that I  _ own you.  _ Just one wrong move and I can do whatever I want to you, understand?” He turned back away, nose upturned. “Get yourselves straightened up and back out onto the floor in five minutes or I’ll add an extra thousand to your debt for every minute you’re late.” 

Mocha just held his face with his hand, staring blankly at the floor. “Yes sir.” An extra thousand to a debt that’s number he didn’t even know. One minute or an entire hour was nothing compared to the lifetime of work he had ahead of him. Alone again, cashless and nursing a bruise, Mocha turned back to the boy still crying into his chest. “Pip, hey, are you alright?”

Angel shook his head furiously. “I-I just went back with some guy a-and he got rough with me a-and--”

Mocha stopped him mid-sentence, quickly tilting up his chin with his hands. “Is that a handprint?” he gasped, eyeing his throat.

That only made him cry harder. “I’m sorry, I got you in trouble…”

Mocha just shook his head, hugging him as tight as possible. “It’s okay, it’s okay… bruises fade, we can cover them with makeup. Eric will probably kick the guy out.” He doubted it, but deep down he hoped that would be the case. Eric cared more for his money than for their wellbeing. “Here, sit down, just breathe.”

Angel was guided to a seat by one of the makeup mirrors, hands in Mocha’s as he took shallow breaths. “He’s still gonna get mad at me later, he caught me trying to sneak cash and he yelled at me for it.” He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re lucky you don’t have to go home with him.”

Lucky indeed. Mocha knew he couldn’t argue, thankful that Craig had come back into his life just a few months after being indebted to Eric. It had been a miracle of favors to allow Eric to let him live with him during the daytime. “Look on the bright side,” he offered, wiping away his tears, “Maybe you’ll find someone too, a prince charming!” At this point, that was all they could hope for. “Someone nice and sweet who… who can take care of you and knows how to treat you right.”

Angel let out a little laugh, unable to help himself. “I’ve always had terrible luck… I’m gonna end up with Eric ‘till I’m not useful to him anymore, or worse.” It wasn’t the first time he’d been on the streets.

“I won’t let that happen and you know it--” 

“Don’t feel like you have to take care of me.” Angel tried hard to be humble. “I can handle myself, a-and Eric isn’t that bad. He can be a little rough sometimes but… he’s better than out there. I can be in here with a roof over my head, or I could be out there with no protection. I’ll be selling myself all the same.” Sometimes he wondered if running away from his abusive foster family had really been such a good choice. Sometimes he wondered if making his deal with Eric was really worth the debt. 

“Or you’re with me and Craig,” Mocha insisted. “I wouldn’t let it get so bad you’d go back to prostitution.” He knew what that world was like from firsthand experience. He wouldn’t allow it to happen again. Addiction had forced him into some awful situations. “We’ve all been through some shit,” he sighed, brushing Angel’s hair with his fingers, “but what matters is that if nobody else does, we still care about each other.”

“Thank you,” Angel said with another smile. “We should get back out there… four more hours and then he’ll take me home for the night.”

As Mocha took him by the hand to lead him out of the back room, Angel couldn’t help but imagine a prince charming coming to sweep him off his feet. In this sort of place, it would never come to be, but he could surely dream.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c: wewcome back and thanks for all the reviews! we super appreciate it  
> v: im a whore for feedback

Chewing on a bite of a frozen pancake, Damien just stared silently at the wall. The fact he had to call for a cab to get him home that night was terrible enough, but to add insult to injury, his father had also picked up a bedmate on the way. He didn’t even know who had been making all that noise upstairs that night, and an introduction wouldn’t have mattered, but just this once he wished he would have given a little bit of a damn to tell him before selfishly taking off. It would probably happen again tonight, too, with another plan set in place to go to the strip club for a little spying.

That dumbass Tucker really thought he’d survive in a game like this, relying on one drug that wasn’t even the most profitable one to toss. It could’ve made Damien laugh just thinking about how often he scrambled to make ends meet.

At least now though, Damien had something to look forward to with his introduction to Angel. 

“Good morning.” From the doorway his father stood, yawning and reaching for a glass off the counter.

“Have a good night?” Damien grumbled, not meaning to be rude but tired enough to let it slip. “Is  _ he  _ still upstairs?”

His father didn’t seem to be affected by his tone, filling the glass with water and setting to making his own breakfast. “Yes, and I did,” he said, daring to make eye contact. “Do anything interesting last night? You got home late.”

“Because you didn’t wait for me in the car like you promised,” Damien snapped back, gripping his fork tightly between his fingers, almost enough to break it.

“You took too long.”

“Something caught my eye,” he said vaguely. “I had a drink or two.” Damien wasn’t ashamed of having paid for a stripper, knowing his father had done the same plenty of times, but he knew how sensitive his father was to the concept of romance. He had a gentle heart, a heart easily broken, something that went entirely against the facade he had built up as an intimidating criminal. If Damien even so much as mentioned the possibility of being interested in someone, it was like wedding bells in his ears.

“Nobody just has a drink and stays that late at the bar,” his father teased, a grin on his face. No, nobody in the world could have seen him and imagined him to be so soft with his only child. “Something? Or  _ someone? _ ”

“Possibly.” Damien looked the other way, sipping at his mug of coffee. He didn’t want to admit he’d developed some sort of odd infatuation with someone he’d only met once. Let alone a stripper who’d been paid off by the son of a mafia boss. It was too cliche for his tastes. 

“I see,” his father chuckled, the tension making Damien’s cheeks burn red as he continued his way around the kitchen. “Are you coming back with me tonight then? I’ve got a deal lined up at the usual spot.”  
  
“Maybe,” Damien said, trying to eat a bit faster.

“I’m glad you’re finally getting yourself out there, you’ve always been too shy--”  
  
“I’m not  _ getting myself out there _ ,” Damien hissed quickly, getting up from his seat with a half eaten pancake still on the table. He wasn’t shy, no way, just more accustomed to solitude. He liked his peace and quiet, and it wasn’t like he had grown up with the most present of father figures. “I’ll be joining you, like I do  _ every night _ , because I’m there to make the deal. That’s  _ it _ .” If he just so happened to see Angel empty handed, then he’d make a visit. Maybe tip him better this time. Maybe spend longer. Maybe talk to him all night.

“Alright, that’s fine.”

Damien scowled at the sight of his father’s grin, but tried not to let it get to him. Instead he put his dishes in the sink and tried not to get too excited about another trip to the club tonight. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was angel was doing right now.

* * *

With dim daylight streaming in through open curtains, Pip just laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. The oversized bed of his boss never got any easier to wake up in. For now, he took in his blessed moment of silence and listened to the heavy breathing of the man beside him, a hand possessively resting against his stomach. It was fleeting moments like these that he didn’t have to be Angel; no, he could just be Pip, just a normal boy a little down on his luck. He couldn’t remember how he got here, the night before a little blurry. Little chirps of birds echoed just outside of the window. 

Pip would have much preferred to be a bird. If he had wings like the tattoo on his back, he would have already escaped to somewhere far, far away.

“Pip?” Butters whispered from the other side, the shift in sheets alerting him that he was awake too. “You up?” 

“Yeah.” Pip kept his voice low, still wanting to enjoy the brief moment before Eric would surely wake up. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Don’t remember?” Butters felt that Pip was retaining less and less these days. “We got home late, I suppose…”

The bed shifted again, the man between them finally stirring with their soft conversation. He sat up, groggy. “Good morning,” he muttered, looking between the two of them before pulling Butters just a little closer. “You did so well last night, you know. If you keep that up, maybe I’ll knock a little off your debt.”He looked back at Pip with a sneer. “Well, unlike  _ Angel  _ here.”

Butters knew, but he feared Pip had forgotten entirely. “T-thank you, but don’t punish him, he did real good yesterday with that big spender!” Despite that, a little something bloomed in his chest at the false hope of escaping. Unlike Pip and Tweek, he was much more gullible to his tricks. 

“But he tried to pocket it twice,” Eric said, scowling at him. “That’s nowhere near praiseworthy. But I suppose he did bring in some money…”

Pip didn’t say anything, still staring blankly at the ceiling.

“He did!” Butters insisted, wanting to defend him. “M-maybe that mister will come back again tonight just for him!”

Damien did come around a lot, it was almost a guarantee that he would be coming back for more. Once people got a taste of Angel, they couldn’t help but come crawling back for more. Eric was guilty of it himself. “We’ll see how it goes tonight, if he comes back and pays big money again, I might forgive him.” With a shove to them both, he nearly knocked Pip right off the bed. “Go make breakfast,” he demanded, a not so subtle hint to leave him be. 

As the two ran off, he grabbed for his phone with a smirk. He had a specific target to get a rise out of that morning-- his Angel and Buttercup were merely casualties along the way.

Not far across town in a quaint little house on the end of a quiet street, Craig wasn’t quite awake yet when his phone buzzed on the bedside table. “Mother fucker,” he muttered, reaching for it and trying to put on a professional tone when he saw who was calling. Careful not to wake a sleeping Tweek laying in the bed beside him, he spoke softly as he answered. “Hello, Tucker speaking.”

“Craig,” Eric said in as even a tone as he could manage, “I would ask how  _ my  _ dancer is doing, but you know I care very little for cheap sluts. Did you enjoy your morning with him?” He laughed to himself, feeling Craig’s glares through the phone. “But enough silly talk, let’s get down to business. Where the  _ fuck  _ is my order.”

Craig wished he had the guts to hang up the phone, to yell at him, to punch him for speaking so poorly of the boy resting beside him. He wished Tweek didn’t even have to  _ touch  _ him. “It’s… coming.” Fuck. He needed to get to work researching on finding the group stealing his business and take them out before it went too far. “I’m fucking trying, okay? It’s been slow. His connections are slow.”

“Oh, so it  _ is  _ his fault.” Eric hummed. “Guess what I need to do tonight. I suppose I’ll take care of things.” He left it vague, just trying to get a rise out of him without a plan. “Thanks for letting me know, I’ll talk to you later--”

“Stop, stop,” Craig begged, accidentally raising his voice and falling right into his trap. “I’ll get it to you, I-I’ll get it to you  _ tonight!” _

Fuck.

He didn’t mean for the words to slip from his lips so quickly, but here he was, frozen in place with a hesitation on the other side of the line.

“Tonight?” Eric’s voice finally said, sounding intrigued.

“Tonight,” he echoed, closing his eyes tightly. Goddammit, he was digging his own grave. 

“Mmm. Deal, Tucker. I’ll hold you to that. I expect it before four in the morning, before we close.  _ Pleasure  _ doing business with you.” And with that, he hung up, leaving Craig in stunned silence. 

Craig let out a shaking breath, placing his hand over his mouth as he let his phone drop onto the bed. Oh no, oh no,  _ oh no _ . Now this was a much more urgent matter, desperate to find his competitor and at least make some sort of dangerous deal to save his ass. He had just inadvertently put his boyfriend’s life on the line for something he had no reason to be involved. 

What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Craig?” Tweek rested on an elbow against the mattress, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. “If it’s about the deals, I can call up someone and--”

Craig didn’t realize he had been crying, quickly wiping at his eyes and sitting up a little straighter. Tweek had just woken up with the way he was rolling towards him, an arm outstretched to touch gently at his back as Craig's feet dangled over the edge of the bed. “Nothing,” he muttered, slowly sliding down until they touched the floor. “You don’t need to worry about a single thing, j-just… be a doll and grab me a cigarette?” He was already heading towards the closet for his best suit. 

“Craig?” Tweek said again, watching him pull out something he knew was only reserved for special occasions. “I… you know you can talk to me, right?” He rolled over and grabbed a cigarette and lighter from the nightstand anyway.

Craig couldn’t bear to tell him, turning around to take the cigarette and tuck it between his teeth before going back to rooting around in the closet. “It’s nothing, baby,” he insisted, huffling at it nervously, tossing the suit and a nice pair of leather shoes towards the bed, just enough to pull Tweek’s attention away from the revolver he was slipping into his jacket.

“Do you at least want something to eat?” Tweek asked, slowly standing up from the bed and pulling on his robe hanging off the end post. He and Craig had been together for a couple of years now, but he still struggled to read him sometimes. Regardless, he figured the situation was serious.

Craig swallowed thickly, trying not to wince as Tweek’s hands gently rested on his shoulders from behind. “Yes,” he said gently. He’d give Tweek a scrap of normalcy despite his hurry. Couldn’t shoot up your potential rival on an empty stomach, could you? “Breakfast would be lovely, thank you.” He  _ had  _ to make today work. He would sell his very soul if it meant Tweek would be safe. “And while you do that… I’ve got to make some phone calls.”

Tweek just offered a sympathetic smile, pushing his fear to the back of his mind and swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” he said, giving him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing out of their bedroom. If he could do nothing else, making him breakfast could help whatever could be going on.

“Thanks,” Craig muttered, cigarette nearly slipping from his lip in his moment of distraction. He quickly collected himself, though, taking it between two fingers and huffing a few more drags as he dialed up a number on his phone and held it to his ear. It rang for a little longer than he had hoped, but as soon as he heard the click, he got to talking. “I made a mistake and I need you to help me cover my ass.”

“You do know it’s early in the morning, right?” the voice on the other end snapped back, clearly annoyed. “I was sleeping.”

“I was sleeping too, Clyde, but this is seriously important. I need you to start looking into who downtown might be, uh…  _ a little too religious and apprently really fuckin’ nice _ to quote some intel. That bastard is stealing our business and I’m sick of it.”

Clyde groaned on the other side of the phone, the sound of a chair sliding against hard floor in the background. “What did you even do?” he asked as a keyboard began to click. “This is pretty vague, like… how religious we talking? Go to church once a year on Easter or ring your doorbell religious?”

“I don’t know, that’s all I got told at the bar last night. Probably type two, he’s got connections blocking our access.” He bit at his lip, finally realizing he was going to have to tell him what he’d done. “I… I need it by tonight.”

“Tonight?” Clyde choked on his spit, almost dropping the phone. Craig had really gone over his head this time. “Are you fucking stupid?”

“I promised Eric a shipment, and if I don’t get  _ something _ Tweek is...” He didn’t want to say it. “You know.”

“God, look, there’s too many churches in the area for me to really narrow this down proper,” Clyde muttered, the clicking of keys echoing in the receiver again, “but I might have  _ something _ for you. Some Mormon church got caught once with  _ illegal substances  _ or whatever.” A pause. “Wait, no, they got caught more than once, but they wiggled out of any trouble.”

Craig felt his breath catch in his throat. Kenny had described the guy as someone that could always manage to slide by police. “Who is he, where’s he located? Sounds like our guy.”

“Ehhh… no names listed for the address, something about privacy and protection… but it’s near downtown, a little closer to the docks than they are the main streets. I’ll text you the address.”

“Appreciate it, I’ll let you know what happens. A-and… just promise me one more thing?” Craig gave one more huff on the cigarette, taking his time blowing out the smoke. “If anything happens to me, take care of Tweek. Get him away from Eric, do whatever it takes, but don’t let him go back to living with that bastard.”

“Nothing is gonna happen to you,” Clyde said, his voice relaxing a little. “I trust you and so does Tweek. You know me and Token and Kev and Jim- we’ll have your back through this. No man left behind.”

Craig cracked a smile at that, coughing into his fist as he finished off the cigarette. “Speaking of Token, would you mind sending him over to meet me there, just in case?”

“I’ll give him a call. See you in a while?”

“See you soon,” Craig said, trying hard to believe it. He hung up the phone, quickly putting out the cigarette on the ashtray before tossing it in the trash. He was going to have to trust that he would make it home alive. 

Wandering into the kitchen with the smell of something delicious to greet him, he found Tweek silently sitting at the table with a few plates set out for them both. “This looks amazing,” he complimented, trying to set him at ease as he took his seat, “one day I’ll get everything sorted out and you can go to culinary school, if you want.”

Tweek let out a nervous laugh at the suggestion. He’d never had the opportunity to even dream of something like that. “Thank you, but you know all I did was cook eggs,” he said. Maybe one day he wouldn’t be the stripper and drug dealer he had been forced to become. He just focused on eating, trying to ignore the fact that Craig was scarfing down his food and already grabbing for his coat. “Where are you going?”

“Work stuff, ya know. I’ll just…” he trailed off, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “If you need a ride to work and I’m not back, call Clyde, okay?” He had promised, anyway. “I’ll see you soon?” He didn’t want to leave, instead turning back around to throw his arms around him tightly as if it would be the last time they ever would.

It was silent as Tweek returned it, gently kissing him on the cheek as the hard metal of the revolver pressed against his skin through his robe. This was trouble, enough worry to kill what appetite he had left. “I love you,” he said, heart aching as he had to let go. “Have a safe trip.”

“I will,” Craig promised again, finally heading out the door and getting into his car. As the engine warmed up he took a quick look at the address from Clyde, recognizing it’s locations. They’d passed by it quite a few times on their way for deals near the docks. Maybe his nice suit could temporarily throw them off, maybe convince them he was interested in his bullshit. He didn’t know.

For the first time, he felt like he had no idea what could go down. He had no plan.

Kicking the car into gear, he made his way through the quiet morning streets and through the downtown district, passing the strip club on the way. Craig slowed as he pulled up on the side of the road next to a big, well kept church, the sunlight catching the stained glass in the front window and illuminating his face with color. Surely someone who owned a place this beautiful couldn’t be that terrible, could they? Swallowing his fear, he stepped up to the front door and gently pulled it open.

Inside was just as neat and pristine as the outside, a man with blonde hair wiping down the rows of polished pews just before him. When he noticed Craig enter, he lifted his head. “Well, hello there, do you need something?”

Craig stood up a little taller. Yes, this had to be his guy. He was tall and blonde and his voice was full of a certain kindness that made him feel like he was speaking to an old friend, but something in his eyes put him on edge. He couldn’t trust him or let his guard down for even a second. “A-ah, yes, I...I happened to find you online, I’ve recently become interested in your church.”

“Really?” The man’s eyes lit up at the news, setting down the cloth he had been holding. “Well, welcome inside! It’s nice to meet you, I’m Gary. Did one of our members help you find a different path towards God?” As he stepped closer, those eyes just searched him, fixated on the odd shape hidden in his jacket. “If someone turned you our way, I would love to know the name.”

Craig could hear the shift in his tone, but continued to play it friendly. Where the hell was his backup? “Ah, just a friend,” he said casually, stepping further into the church. “DO you happen to know an…  _ Eric Cartman _ ?” And with that, he whipped the gun out of his jacket.

Gary didn’t move. 

Didn’t budge.

And then, he suddenly began to chuckle. “I am. He’s becoming a good friend of mine.” His voice was just as bright and chipper as ever, not breaking eye contact as the gun pointed straight between his eyes. “You’re  _ very  _ brave coming here on your own, aren’t you?”

Suddenly there was a click from behind Craig, his eyes darting to try and see.

“Do you know  _ my _ friend, Stanley Marsh?”

Fuck. Craig tried to remain calm, ignoring the shaking in his fingers. Swallowing thickly, he tried to decide where to aim his gun, deciding to turn and shift it towards the man standing a slight distance behind him. With shaggy dark hair and the pale complexion that had been described to him, this was his competitor no doubt. “So we finally meet in person. I hear you’ve been stealing all my clients.”

Stan just grinned. “I only take when I’m approached. I like fair games as much as you do. Eric came to me and I simply said yes. Nothing dirty. Nothing awful. Absolutely no stealing.”

“I wanna know where you’re getting your supply,” Craig said, trying his best to keep his eyes on both figures as Gary began to move. He could hardly keep up between the two of them, starting to sweat. “I’ve got someone real important to me on the line here. You ever loved someone, Marsh? So much you’d do anything for them?”

“It’s a little easier when they work with you.” He glanced over at Gary for a moment. “Especially when you get to teach them all the bells and whistles that come with it. Makes it a little more fun.” 

Dammit. “I see,” Craig said, gritting his teeth as they continued in their awkward standoff. “Well, then you know how it feels when someone you love is in danger. I’d hate for either of us to walk away from this with a broken heart, huh? You wanna play nice with me? I’d be happy to cooperate if you’ll put that gun down.”

Stan raised a brow, amused. “If this goes my way, you won’t be walking away from this.” And then, with Craig’s moment of distraction, Gary now had his own gun pressed up against the back of their competitors head. “I guess I’ll be fair about it, though. Tell me how we can play nice.”

Craig winced, hating that he hadn’t been paying enough attention. “I...I can make you a deal.” He didn’t waver from aiming at Stan. If Gary was going to pull something, he wanted to be ready. A head for a head- if he couldn’t win, neither could Stan. “All I need, at least for today, is a shipment for Cartman. That’s all I need and my partner is safe.”

“What are you offering in return?” Stan hummed, “I have a few shipments, but I’m not just going to give them to you.”

Craig slowly twisted his gun, letting the barrel catch in the light. “Weapons,” he said. “You see this beauty? Fastest shot you can get. I know that would come in handy for you.” Stan was known to be a little trigger happy. “I know people. I can get you whatever you want.”

“How many?”

“A crate of the goods for Eric’s usual.” Craig was feeling like they were getting somewhere. “A crate of really, really nice guns.”

“Make them all AKs and you’ve got yourself a deal, Tucker.” Stan and Gary both lowered their guns.

Craig nodded, letting his own lower. He could pay for guns; those were always available through his hookup. It was the availability of drugs that had him worried. “And,” he said, trying to get as much as he could, “I’ve got a slightly unrelated request. That stripper bar? Gingersnaps? You gotta make sure you don’t do anything stupid to hurt the dancers. It’s real important to me.”

Stan shrugged. “Not my turf, not my interest. I wouldn’t touch them.” Although, this was information he could use to his advantage. “Why, your sweetheart get his tips there?”

Craig let out a growl, but didn’t dare show disrespect since he had managed to scrape by alive. “Wasn’t his choice. You know how Eric Cartman is, he manipulates vulnerable people.”

Stan didn’t know. They’d fallen out and when word came around of what type of business Eric involved himself in, Stan wanted no part of it. They had only started doing business out of necessity, and it was on strictly professional terms. He stepped closer, offering a hand to shake. “You know how things work in this world. You keep your eyes on your assets and your enemies, and if anybody knows that, it’s Eric.”

“He’s always got an eye on me,” Craig said, taking his hand and shaking on the deal. “He’s got an eye on everything.” If anyone was truly top dog, he would argue it was him.

“Not everything, he’s not that powerful,” Stan said, breaking hands with an unreadable expression. “ _ Satan  _ holds all the real power here. We’re all like little pups compared to what he’s got his hands on.” He almost shivered thinking about it. “He’s got his eye on all of us, I bet, and I really mean it.” He wanted nothing to do with him, nor his son who was starting to get a reputation of his own.

“He frequents the club a lot. My boyfriend, uh,  _ Mocha _ , sees him there all the time.”

Stan cracked a smile at the way Craig said the stage name so fondly. “Another reason for me not to go into that god forsaken place.

“Are you afraid?” Craig dared to push.

“I’m not afraid, just cautious. I’d rather not die with a couple of bullets in my chest. I’m not  _ stupid _ . I know when it’s appropriate to play my cards.” Stan let out a sigh. Despite it all, Craig’s personality was somewhat amusing enough for him to play along. “The shipment is still gonna take a while, but I’ll make sure it gets to Eric tonight. Can’t be immediate, though. Still gotta get through the docks.”

“As long as it’s before 4am, I’ll get you my end of the bargain. We’ll trade off in the parking lot, deal?”

“I’ll even be there myself.” It wasn’t something he usually did, preferring to stay out of the line of fire, but he didn’t want Craig to cause any trouble without him being there to put a stop to it. “But don’t think I won’t bring backup.”

Backup! Craig still had no idea where the hell Token and Kevin could be. Glancing at the door, he knew he had to wrap this up. Something must have gone wrong. “Here,” he said, scribbling a number and the name  _ Stevens  _ on a scrap of paper inside his pocket. “So you know I’m legit. This is her.”

Gary snatched it out of his hand, looking it over for a moment before giving him another grin. “Thanks for everything. I’m pleased there’s been no bloodshed, I just cleaned these floors.” he tutted, looking back at the unfinished benches. “But I’m a bit behind on my work now, how will the evening sermon go on with such a mess? Perhaps you should donate since you’re here. We do support some lovely causes.”

Craig rolled his eyes, fishing a couple of bills from his pocket and tossing it his way. “So we’re on good terms,” he explained, “just this one time. I’ve gotta save my money so I can buy my boyfriend back from the fucker you two are supplying.”

“Is it really that bad?” he asked, that smile on his face suddenly dropping for the first time. “It’s not just a big bluff, they really are being treated poorly?”

“I told you, he’s a scumbag. Treats them like he owns them, like he can do whatever. The sad part is that it’s true. There’s no way to escape. If you try, he’ll find you and he  _ will  _ kill you.” He really did have eyes everywhere. It was why he didn’t dare keep Tweek from returning every night.

Gary slowly reached an arm around Stan, pulling him a little closer. “I...I know we’re not exactly shining examples, but this is still a holy place. If they need a place to go, I’d be happy to open my doors. Tell your  _ Mocha  _ that he and the others have a friend at the church.”

Craig couldn’t believe what he was hearing, talking friendly to man who had just had a gun up against his head. “I’ll let him know,” he agreed, still trying to understand what was Gary’s deal. “Thanks again for not blowing my head off.”

“Not a problem,” Gary said, reaching out to take his hand and shake it. His grip was almost too tight, pulling Craig close enough to hiss in his ear. “But if you double cross us or rat us out, I won’t hesitate next time.”

The words sent shivers down his spine. “I won’t, I’m a man of my word.”

“As am I, Tucker,” Gary said with another grin, letting go of his hand. “As am I. Remember that not only God is watching you, but I am too.”

Craig took a slight step back. What the hell was this guy’s deal? “G-got it, yeah. I’ll meet you at the club tonight.” Thankful it was over, he hurried out the door and down to the safety of his car.

He was alive, alive! He’d make it home to kiss his boyfriend and to see another day. “Goddammit,” he huffed, trying to calm his beating heart as he pulled out his phone. He would contact his weapons dealer later, but there were more pressing matters. Tapping on the contact number and putting the phone to his ear, he waited anxiously for a response. 

It was almost immediate. “Craig!” The familiar sound of gunshots rang in his ears. “We got too close to the docks, someone identified us!” 

“What!?” Craig shouted back, already kicking the car into gear. Goddammit, just what he needed today. “I’m on my way right now, hold tight!” He set the phone down in the passenger seat, driving with one hand as he loaded and prepped his gun with the other. The gunfire became louder and louder before he skid to a stop just outside of the entrance to the docks, popping a cigarette in his mouth as he threw open the door. “RIDE’S HERE!” he shouted, but with the new spray of bullets he couldn’t tell where they were at. Keeping low, he slid down from his seat and hurried along towards a stack of crates where a hand was waving him over. 

“Craig!” Kevin shouted, poking his head up just enough to get a shot the other direction. “Dude, are you fucking stupid?!”

“Yeah!” he shouted back, stumbling as another bullet whizzed by. If he could get over to the crates, he might have enough cover. Aiming his loaded gun in the direction of the attackers, he aimed for the first figure he saw and took a shot, only for them to take the opportunity to get one back. Suddenly he was on the ground, wincing in pain as his leg was set on fire.

“Fuck!” There was the sound of feet on the pavement and suddenly he was being dragged, struggling to hold onto his gun as he was pulled into the makeshift barricade. Propped up with his back to the wood, he took one look at his bloodied leg and screamed.

“Stop being a hero, you could have waited for us to get a way out,” Kevin shouted at him, ripping off part of Craig’s pant leg to tie it around the wound to try to stop the bleeding. It hadn’t gone in deep, something they could help if they acted fast. 

“You could at least say thank you!” he gasped through his pain, whacking him in the arm with the butt of his revolver. “Who the hell are these guys, anyway, who do they work for?!” If it was Stan and Gary, he was going to fucking murder them tonight.

“I don’t know,” Token admitted from beside him, eyes scanning for a way for them to escape with an injured leader in tow. “They saw us near some international ships and started shooting. Swear to god we didn’t touch them, just looking for a place to stake out while you were in the church.”

“Don’t know who the fuck that is then,” Craig muttered, Kevin tying the makeshift bandage tight around his leg. “What a bunch of fucking assholes, firing unprovoked…” Really, it was just another person trespassing on his turf.

“They’re jumpy,” Kevin muttered, poking his eyes above the boxes again. “Wish we could get help...It’s amazing they haven’t gotten a civilian with that sort of--”

Sirens. 

“Fuck!” Craig yelled, trying to drag himself despite his useless leg. The last thing he wanted was to get caught by the police. That would really be the perfect ending to a less than stellar day. “Kev, we gotta get out of here!” With any luck, the sirens would scare the others off. 

Kevin threw his arm around Craig’s waist, hoisting him upright. It was now or never. “We’re running!” he shouted to Token, making a B-line for Token’s car. “When I said I wanted help I didn’t mean the goddamn cops!”

“Take what you can get!” Craig gasped, limbs flailing as he was pulled across the concrete like a sack of potatoes. “Just stay low!”

Token took a second to fire a few more shots before taking off with them, the sirens starting to drown out any sound. A voice on a megaphone was yelling for everyone to drop their weapons. “Go, go, go!” Between him and Kevin, they managed to shove Craig in the back seat before starting the engine and taking off. A hospital would be no help with what had just happened- their best bet was getting him back to one of their houses and trying to perform their own first-aid.

Left in the dust kicked up from their escape, an officer stepped out from his car, own gun cocked in hand. His eyes scanned for only a moment before lowering it. “Too dangerous,” he called, making eye contact with one of the men as they took off. “Stand down, let them go.”

“Brofkovski, you’re a fucking moron!” one of the other officers yelled. “We had a shot!”

“And I’m your superior!” Kyle yelled back, watching as figures vanished from sight back to where they had come from. This was really not what he wanted to be dealing with today. He recognized the shipments just as well as he knew each of those terrified faces running away with tails between their legs and guns in their hands. He couldn’t risk the trouble on their side. “If I say hold, you hold.”

His position at the office was already in jeopardy. This was just another suspicious nail in the coffin. Rumors were sure to fly.

“Fall back,” he huffed, climbing back into his cruiser and pulling out his phone. Too upset to care, he drove haphazardly as it rang. As soon as he heard the click of someone picking up, he was yelling. “Your boys were shooting up the docks again, I can’t keep covering up for your fucking mistakes!”

“They were probably just defending some shipments, but someone will pay for this, don’t you worry.”

“I’m gonna be in so much hot shit for helping you, you know that?” Kyle huffed, trying to focus on the road. “This is the last time I can afford to pull that kind of stunt. God, I love you, but I could go to jail for protecting you, David!”

There was a sigh from the other end of the phone. “I love you too, but you should know by now that I have enough connections to keep us both safe. I won’t go to jail, and neither will you.” 

“I’ll come by after work and see what we can do. Just give me some time, okay?” Kyle begged. This was a nightmare. His devotion to justice and a need to set things right conflicted with everything he was currently doing to keep an affair out of the public eye and his partner out of trouble. Why did he have to fall in love with someone who was supposed to be his enemy?

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later. Hope you don’t get too much heat at the station.”

Kyle hung up, setting his phone to the side.

He knew he was absolutely going to get heat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C: sorry it took so long i was playing minecraft
> 
> V: for just pennies a day you too can prevent cartman from keeping them in debt call now and get a free gift

Sitting in a chair with his head low and hands folded on his lap, Kyle waited anxiously for the sound of approaching footsteps to come and open the door. He may be a high ranking officer, but he still had to answer to his chief.

By the way she slammed open the door, he could tell she was not happy at all. 

“Broflovski.”

“Chief,” he answered back respectfully, following Wendy Testaburger with his eyes as she made her way towards her desk. 

Settling in with a scowl, they were now at eye level. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Broflovski. I need to know  _ exactly  _ what just transpired. I get a radio that there’s a shoot-out down at the docks, you lead the squadron and then you  _ let them go _ ?”

Kyle tried to think quick on his toes. “When we got there, one side had already run off, and the other was well armed. It was safer to wait it out than to lose lives.”

“Right,” Wendy said, standing up and starting to pace. “Just like last time. And the time before that. And the time before  _ that _ . I knew they were armed, that’s why I sent so much backup. That’s why I took precautions to make sure  _ we  _ were armed. That’s why I did what I did. But what did  _ you _ do? You drove over there and didn’t even try to make use of the resources I provided.”

“I know a situation when I see one,” Kyle tried to argue. “I drove up, I assessed what was going on, and I scared them off. I stopped the shootout. I  _ did my job _ .” 

“You did your job?” Wendy echoed, stopping her pacing to stare him down. “Right, right. You did your job. This city has been made safer through your  _ hard work _ .”

“I’ll get them next time!” Kyle insisted. “If anything, I’m getting close to cracking the Thorn case. If we can shut them down, I’m sure others will quickly follow. I’ve got it narrowed down to a few locations for base of operations, and rumor has it that they’ve been frequenting that strip club Mccormick is keeping tabs on.”

“Gingersnaps?”

Kyle winced slightly at the sound of the name. “Yes.”

Wendy scoffed. “His position undercover has been invaluable to our operation. If you put that in jeopardy with the shit you’ve been pulling, I’ll have your head.”

Kyle swallowed thickly, lowering his eyes. If he could take the Thorn family out, maybe it would put him in good enough standing to proceed with what he really cared about. If he couldn’t remain on the squad, he would never be able to right what was wrong. “Yes ma’am…”

Wendy returned to her seat, rubbing her temple with her fingers. “Just go. I want you undercover tonight, go down there and see if you can get any details on Thorn’s whereabouts. I assigned you to them for a reason, Broflovski. You know what you’re doing when you put your mind to it. Focus  _ only on them _ . No distractions.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Kyle tried not to grumble as he left the room, excusing himself outside for a breath of fresh air and some time alone to call David again. One wrong move and it was all going to be over. As soon as it picked up, he began speaking in code. “It’s mostly fine,” he said, not bothering to say hello. “I’m going into Tucker’s territory tonight to sniff out activity. Not on him, though. Chief wants me on the big guy.”

From the other end, David sighed. “Do you need assistance? It can get risky there at night.”

“I’ll probably be fine,” Kyle insisted. “Chief is already on my ass, I can’t risk extra help. It’s me and me alone for this one. I’m going undercover so hopefully nobody will notice. I’ll blend in, get a drink…” Kyle shifted uncomfortably side to side with a nervous chuckle. “Maybe grab a dance off a stripper?” 

“If you wanted a dance I would have given you one myself,” David teased. Of course, their times of intimacy were strictly limited as they struggled to keep up appearances. They didn’t even live together in fear of it leading someone on. “But… you know, all jokes aside, a stripper might have some information. If you need to be a big spender you know my card number.” 

“Thanks,” Kyle said, a small blush creeping across his cheeks. He badly wanted to tell him he loved him, but this place wasn’t safe for him to mutter it out loud. “I’ll let you know how it goes. I’ll try to talk to whoever I can get.”

David was a little more blunt, however. “Te amo. Stay safe.” With that he hung up, just praying for the best.

* * *

Laying on the previously clean couch of Token’s house, Craig had managed to slow the bleeding in his leg almost completely down. Clyde had just arrived with Jimmy, the four other men encircled around him trying to figure out what to do. “This is just fucking awful,” Craig moaned, “of course when I’ve got buisness tonight, I get shot…” He winced as Jimmy went through a medical bag, already knowing the pain coming to him to get the bullet out. 

“That’s what you get for being stupid,” Kevin muttered, but he was looking the other way as Jimmy pulled back the makeshift bandage and began to get to work. 

Craig was suddenly screaming, muffling it with the crook of his arm. “Fuck! FUCK!” It hurt badly, but he knew he had to stick it through. Think of Tweek, think of how excited he would be when he got home...

Kevin just shook his head, passing Craig a bottle of whisky. “Drink, dude. It’s the only thing I’ve got.”

“Fuck you,” Craig muttered, hoping to drown his sorrows as he threw it back between shouts and cries. Before he knew it, Clyde was cleaning the wound and the extraction was over. 

“Th-there, good as new,” Jimmy said, wiping his bloodstained hands on a towel.

Craig offered him a small smile before looking back up at Token. “God, what are we gonna do? That was a group I haven’t seen before, they must be creeping down this way from further north,” Craig said, already starting to slur. “Sons of bitches can’t stay put…”

With Craig slight sedated, Jimmy found it easier to begin to stitch the wound closed.

“I’ve never been attacked on spot like that before,” Token said. “Usually there’s some type of warning, a sound, something to let you know they’re ready to shoot.” They’d barely gotten cover. 

Craig just kept drinking through the pain. “They’re good, too fucking good… I’ve already got Marsh on my ass, Satan looming everywhere, Cartman stealing my goddamn boyfriend…” He struggled to hold back his tears in his drunken state. “God, if I lose this deal, Tweek’s gonna end up hurt.” He’d evaded it for now, but another slip up and he was fucked.

Clyde just pat at his arm, trying to be supportive. “Craig, we aren’t fucked. It’s gonna be fine and nothing is going to happen to  _ any  _ of us, that includes Tweek. You said you got the deal set with Marsh, right? The shipment will be in on time? Then it’s okay.”

Craig rubbed at his eyes, just wanting to take a nap. Staying late to watch out for Tweek every night was starting to really get to him. “You’re right, yeah,” he sighed. “I’ll talk to Kenny tonight and see if he has anything to say, maybe info on these new guys. I’ll ask around.” For now, he wanted to just see Tweek. “What time is it?”

“Almost five,” Clyde said, checking his watch. “You’ve still got some time before the club opens and Tweek has to go. You’ve got time to  _ rest _ .”

“Just for a little bit,” Craig compromised, not really wanting to but knowing it would be fore the best. “Call Tweek for me, alright? Tell him I’ll be home to drive him.”

“Craig, you’re  _ not  _ driving him to work,” Kevin said sternly. “You can hardly move your leg.” And yet they needed him there as a representative of their group at the deal.

“I’ll drive then,” Token offered.

Craig was half asleep. “Okay, yeah…”

“Better,” Kevin agreed. “He can go down and meet Marsh, but he needs an escort.”

“I can go,” Clyde offered. Together, they were an unstoppable partnership. “We’ll figure it out together, make a quick deal and get out of there before anything can happen.”

“Craig would probably want you,” Kevin agreed, seeing that he had fallen asleep. “You’ve been in this just as long as him.”

With a dopey grin, Clyde wrapped his arm around Token’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer. “Looks like it’s you and me again!” he teased. 

Token groaned before leaning until his tug. “You and me again,” He echoed. But the smile on his face proved otherwise. They had history, and although it had been rough for Token in the beginning to even comprehend the mechanics of doing something like selling and distributing drugs as an  _ organized group, _ he wasn’t sure if he’d ever want to go back to normal.

Giving him another little squeeze before letting go, Clyde pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll give Tweek a call,” he offered, wanting to at least reassure him that things were fine. “Let Craig sleep, okay? I’ll be right back.” With that he left for a quieter room, letting the phone ring.

There was no hesitation on the other end. “Is everything okay?!”

“Tweek, hold on,” Clyde said quickly, trying to calm him down. “Craig’s fine, I-I mean, we brought him back in once piece. He’ll be home real soon--”

“What do you mean  _ one piece _ ?” Tweek shouted, already in a panic. “What happened? Can I talk to him?!”

“He’s resting,” Clyde promised, again trying to soothe him. “S-see, we uh…” Fuck. Now he was going to have to explain. “So Craig went to make this deal with this other crime guy, and we got held up by the docks by a gunfight, so Craig came to help us and he  _ kinda  _ got shot. N-not that bad though! Just in his thigh!”

“He got SHOT!?” Tweek shrieked, nearly dropping the phone. “Can I see him? Can I go there? Is he better now?”

“Jimmy stitched him up, you know he’s got steady hands. It’s all taken care of, he’s not in any pain.” Couldn’t hurt if he was passed out, but Tweek didn’t need to know that. “We’ll get him home to you before you have to go to work. In fact, uh, me and Token will be driving you down for business reasons.”

“Business reasons,” Tweek echoed, not understanding. “That’s fine, just… take care of him in the meantime.” He could handle waiting, yep, just...two hours. 

God this was gonna be a nightmare.

“I know it’s not ideal,” Clyde sighed. Really, none of their situation was ideal. If his highschool self could see what he would become, he would probably be disappointed. When Craig had reconnected with Tweek and found out what had happened, his desperation to apply the meth connection to earning money had led them all down a dark path. Sure, they made some serious bank, but was it really worth the risk? “Why don’t you just go meditate for a bit, we’ll be there before you know it.”

“Yeah, cool, see you later,” Tweek muttered before hanging up, not wanting to deal with it anymore.

Heading back to the living room, he looked between the three others with a sigh. “He’s high strung, but I get why he’s worried.”

“It’s a little hard not to be,” Token sighed. “But Craig is okay, Tweek knows about it, and all we have to do tonight is a single deal. Everything is coming up clear.” Now they just had to make sure it stayed that way.

“And I already called the dealer to get what Craig promised,” Kevin added. “It’s gonna go quick, in and out in no time.” Maybe enough to make Eric happy, maybe enough to get Tweek off the hook.

“Bebe already has things in order?” Clyde asked, raising a brow. He knew she was quick, but he didn’t want her to be so quick it got messy either.

“She’s working on it,” Kevin confirmed. “She’ll be there tonight to help us trade with Marsh.” The number of people present for this one exchange was getting longer and longer. He couldn’t help but worry about the attention that could cause. “Stevens, Marsh, the three of you guys… we need to be quick.”

Everyone else seemed to be realizing the same thing. “Fast,” Clyde agreed. “Especially if whoever started the gunfight is still lurking.” And Eric’s bullshit. And Thorn. “Sell and get the fuck out, no lingering. Token can go back to pick Tweek up when his shift is over.” Tweek was already a known prostitute, as well as a major meth supplier. If he was caught or questioned, it was going to be the end of the world for all of them.

With everything squared away, they began to prepare for the night.

* * *

On the drive down to the club, Pip was already losing himself. The street lamps were just starting to click on, the shadow of looming, rundown buildings marking their transition into the worse area of downtown. As the car turned into the parking lot and found it’s reserved spot, he was Pip no more. Resuming his masquerade in order to ease the pain of another night on the job, Angel stepped carefully out when Eric let him from the car, making his way through the back door and into the dressing room. Racks of outfits and a few random palettes of makeup were illuminated by the flip of a light switch, little twinkling lights around the mirrors almost inviting him in. If it wasn’t the fact this was a strip club, he would have probably found some sense of beauty in it.

Sitting down at one of the mirrors, he looked over his shoulder at Buttercup picking an outfit for the night. “Tweek isn’t here yet,” he muttered anxiously. “You know he’s  _ always  _ early.” And Eric would be pretty pissed if he wasn’t on time.

“He’s never been late before,” Buttercup said, looking equally nervous. “You know that his sweetheart is good about keeping on Eric’s good side.” It didn’t ease his jitters as he held up an outfit. “Think this will do well?”

“Yeah,” Angel said, looking harder at himself in the mirror. A heavy bruise was starting to form on his upper arm, a remnant of Eric getting a little too rough with him back at home. “I need a top that’s going to cover this, makeup isn’t going to cut it.”

Buttercup was already digging through the wardrobe for something to wear. It wasn’t the first time they’d had to dress strategically. In fact, he himself had many scars and bruises he did his best to hide. Some were fresh, but others were reminders of some of the horrors in his childhood he had run away from. “Here,” he said, handing over a leather top with decorated sleeves. “It’ll hide it, and it matches your character.” 

Angel carefully pulled it over his head, wincing as it rubbed against tender skin. It did look nice though, and was a low enough back to show off his tattoo. “It is nice,” he admitted, turning a little to look at himself in the mirror again. “It’ll work for today.” With that, the two of them sat back down at the mirrors to tidy up any extra markings with makeup, decorating their faces intricately to be seen from below the stage. 

Suddenly, there was the clatter of the back door opening and slamming, Mocha running in with a frenzy. “Sorry I’m late, don’t tell Eric,” he gasped, already sitting down at the table with them and starting to cover himself in makeup.

“We would never,” Buttercup assured him, but his eyes trailed upwards to the single security camera in the corner of the ceiling. He just prayed Eric wasn’t watching. “What happened? Where were you?” He grabbed for a sponge, hoping to ease the process as he helped him blend out his foundation under his tired eyes.

“Craig got into a shootout at the docks,” he said, still distressed. “He’s outside right now, waiting for the club to open. Making a deal or something tonight, I’m still confused about what’s going on…” Getting to hug him and see that he was okay had helped a lot, but he was always worried for him. “It’s gonna be a busy, crazy night, so put on your best show faces.”

Buttercup already was recoiling. “Oh gosh…” He hated nights like these. There usually was a deal or two going on in the shady business, but being warned about it usually meant nothing good. “Who else is showing up? Anybody to watch for?”

“Craig will be here with Clyde and Token,” Mocha said. “Um… other than that, some other crime guy and the one who deals the guns. Not sure about anyone else, though.”

Buttercup nodded. “I’ll stay away from their usual spots.”

“Me too,” Mocha said, “if I can avoid it anyway.” He knew better than to get close when Craig was working on a deal. “You too, Pip, no more getting involved with crime lords. You’ve got enough on your plate with our piece of shit boss.”

Angel snorted out a giggle, covering his mouth with his hand.

“What’d you say about me?” A voice said as the curtain to the back room was ripped aside, Eric standing menacingly in the doorway.

Mocha paled, quickly trying to save his skin. “I-I have a piece of shit cough,” he tried to correct, coughing lamely into the crook of his elbow. He didn’t make eye contact.

Eric narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m already tired of dealing with the three of you today,” he hissed, looking between them. “Just get your makeup on and get your asses ready to perform. Last night there were too many empty private rooms and not enough cash in your pants. And  _ Mocha _ ?” He smirked, loving to strike fear. “Tell Tucker that you’ll be an hour late tonight. We need to have a little  _ chat _ .”

Mocha felt faint at the implications, holding back a whimper. He'd used to have so much more fire in him. Was this really what he had been reduced to? “A-alright,” he said, fishing his phone out from his bag to text Craig.

“We’re getting ready as quick as we can,” Buttercup was already insisting, putting on the heels he’d slipped and sprained an ankle in more than once.

“Good.” Eric didn’t leave quite yet, though, starting to pace around the room. “You’re awfully quiet now,” he noted. I heard you talking and giggling minutes ago. Are you keeping secrets?”

Angel was suddenly letting out a squeak of defense. “No sir!”

“But I thought I overheard Mocha mentioning something about a crime lord?” Eric’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders, looking down at him through the mirror. “What, you think someone would care about a slut like you long enough to help you? You’re with me for  _ life _ , baby.” He grabbed Angel’s bruised chin, tilting it up towards him. “Don’t you forget it.”

Angel felt his lower lip tremble as he forced himself to look up into his eyes. The words came without thinking, his body tense with a mix of fear and anger. “Don’t call me a slut!” he hissed, trying to pull away, “I’ll get my money and I’ll leave you! I’ll--”

With a hard whack, Angel nearly fell over, hands bracing themselves against the vanity.

“Don’t talk back to me,” Eric said coldly, wiping foundation from his palm on his pants.

“Stop it,” Mocha hissed, taking a cautious step towards Angel but knowing anything more than that would only result in the same consequence his friend had already gotten. “Don’t talk to him that way, h-he’s…”  
  
Eric just glared at him, almost daring him to continue.

Mocha went silent, head lowered.

“Then we’ve reached an understanding,” Eric said, glancing back to Angel. “When I’m done talking to Mocha tonight, I’ll be having a little chat with you, too.”

Angel just nodded silently, nearly in tears again. He should have kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t like he could get away from him. They went home together, and if he ever dared to run, Eric would hunt him down and take care of business. 

As if to rub salt in the wound, Eric spoke again. “If you really are so friendly as I’m hearing you to be, I’m expecting double yesterday’s payment tonight, or there will be  _ consequences _ .” With that, he turned and left.

As soon as he was gone, Angel began to sob, barely able to breathe as Buttercup and Mocha tried to comfort him. “I made almost three  _ thousand _ last night,” he choked. Half of it had been from that strange, kind man. “H-how the hell am I supposed t-to…”

Mocha tried his best to assure him. “I’m sure something good will happen,” he said, rubbing at his back. “W-with such a sweet face like yours? I’m sure you’ll get lucky.” He wished he could just give him the money, but each of them had quotas to fill of their own.

Angel rubbed at his eyes, makeup all over his cheek and hands. The smokey eye he’d carefully crafted to hide a fading black eye was now all over his face. “I dunno, what’s he gonna do to me if I don’t? I know you said stay away from Craig’s table tonight, b-but… if they’ve got cash…”

Mocha just tried to tidy his face, pulling his hands away from it. “It’s okay, I understand. All I ask is when you go over there, you be careful okay? Wait until they’re done with their deal.” He knew an intrusion wouldn’t help anyone.

Angel nodded, drying his tears until they stopped falling and his makeup was tidied. He would be okay. He had to be okay. He needed to stop his worrying, put on a smile and work his ass off. “Can I do first dance tonight? Do you mind? I just want to go straight to work.”

“Of course,” Buttercup said, “anything to get you through it.”

Angel smiled weakly, tilting his head upwards as Buttercup began to brush something over his eyes. “Thank you… you guys are the best.”

As he was distracted, Mocha made his way over to the curtain and peered out at the people starting to enter. It seemed like many of the usual suspects, with Craig’s group sitting at a back table waiting for their deal and…

He pulled back from the curtain, suddenly feeling a bit more anxious. Both Thorns were sitting at a booth in the far corner, looking like they meant business. 

“Are we busy?” Angel asked, glancing his way. 

“A little,” Mocha said, trying to force a smile. “You’ll have a great night for work.” And hopefully whatever Damien was waiting for would happen quickly and without any conflict. With Craig sitting right there so close to potential action, he couldn’t help but pray that things would go off without a hitch on both ends.

Angel gave him a smile back, standing up to show himself off. “How do I look? Think everyone will be lining up for me?”

“They always do,” Mocha sighed, wishing it didn’t have to be this way. “Good luck out there.”

And with that, Angel vanished out the curtain and out to the stage.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v: all the comments weve gotten have been so sweet but thank you especially to diary_of_shane for their most recent comment that got cheyenne and me up and running again to post this chapter
> 
> c: yes thank you all so much for your reviews and support! Hoping to upload a little more consistently but I work like 4 jobs so I will try my best! ∑(゜Д゜;)

Angel wasn’t thinking straight as he twirled himself around the pole, nothing but a display of entertainment for the sea of faces he couldn’t quite make out under the blinding stage lights. He almost felt numb from his fingertips down to his toes, batting his eyelashes and playing up his character to the most extreme level he could manage. Somebody out there had to be the lucky ticket; somebody had to want him enough to save himself from another wave of abuse. As his eyes scanned the crowd in desperate hope, the man he locked eyes with made his breath catch and almost lose his footing.

He was sitting right there next to another much larger man in the far corner of the club, staring right back at him.

“You,” Angel breathed, pausing for only a moment in his routine before getting right back into it, suddenly a little more genuine with the way he swayed his hips.

“Is that the one?” Damien’s father teased beside him, following his son’s gaze for only a moment before glancing back over towards the strange gathering beginning just a few tables away. Yes, he recognized each of them, especially the young man trying to keep his head low with the tan skin and piercing blue eyes. He’d been one in particular he’d been keeping tabs on.

Damien didn’t take his eyes off of Angel for even a second, having been watching the moment he heard the music start for the routine. Under the lights of the stage as Angel danced around the pole, his expression and body language was just as alluring as the day prior. Those pouty lips, hooded eyes, and soft blonde hair were enough to make him like a siren calling Damien’s name. “That’s none of your concern,” he said coldly with a scowl, but he knew it was obvious. It would be more so when he would get up to solicit another private dance.

“We have business tonight, don’t forget that,” Satan said calmly.

Damien had noticed the gathering at the nearby table too, but he had no interest in eavesdropping all night like his father did. “I have bigger priorities,” he muttered. A little gang in their vicinity was none of his concern, much more infatuated with the sight of Angel making his way towards the front of the stage now. People were trying to shove money towards him as he sat down right on the edge, dangling his soft, bare legs down into the audience.

“Who wants a dance?” His playful voice called, slowly parting his thighs and rolling his hips in the most enticing way possible.

Eagerness be damned, Damien wanted that dance before anyone else.

“I’ll be back!” he muttered as he leapt from the booth, Damien’s hands already fishing for his wallet as he shoved himself through the crowd. He was practically right between Angel’s legs as he reached him, staring up at him with a smirk. “I’d like a dance, pretty thing.”

Angel’s mouth fell open, momentarily knocked out of character from pure shock. All he could do was stare down at Damien, his heart pounding with joy in his chest. He’d kept his promise, he’d come  _ back _ . “Y-yeah,” he muttered, trying to swallow and clear his dry mouth, “yeah baby… you gonna pay top dollar?” The crowd began to call out numbers, waving cash.

Damien grit his jaw at the sound, hating that they all seemed to view Angel as nothing more than an object. Ironically, he began to do the same, showing off his wallet. If he wanted to talk to him again, he was going to have to pay. “What’s the highest bid, because I’ll go  _ higher _ .”

Angel had been listening intently, knowing that the number was crucial. “Four hundred,” he said softly, tilting his head seductively. “But the higher you go, the better I am.” He needed to milk everything he could get out of his audience, out of this  _ beautiful,  _ daunting man that he was finding himself equally infatuated with.

“That’s a little low,” Damien scoffed, especially compared to what he had paid the day before. “I’ll triple it.”

“Twelve hundred?!” Angel gasped, already leaping down from the stage, nearly landing right into his arms. “Sold!” The people around him were still trying to grab at him, but he pressed close to Damien. “P-please, please, gentlemen, I only take high bids tonight.” And with a playful smirk, he leaned to whisper right into his ear. “Let’s go to a private room.” Something quick and sloppy and amazing, just enough to make it worth his money and then get the hell back out onto the stage for more buyers. He couldn’t afford to waste a second of time.

And yet some part of soul didn’t want to rush his precious time with his visitor. 

Arm in arm, the two made their way towards the private room, ignoring the grumblings of other eager customers. Damien couldn’t help take a little pleasure in their disappointment. As soon as they were back inside he plopped onto the couch, leaning back and getting comfortable. “You know you shouldn’t be accepting anything less than what I’m paying tonight, you’re worth more than that-- maybe even  _ more.” _

“I’m just a stripper,” Angel sighed, standing awkwardly before him. “It’s just my job. I get my money, I pay my boss, I-I just gotta make quota or more.” Didn’t matter how many men he had to fuck to get it, or how they treated him in the process. The thought of needing to bring his dues to Eric was terrifying enough to make his eyes water, that carefully crafted facade nearly cracking. 

Damien just awkwardly stared, almost taken back by the faint sight of tears. He’d never spent much time with people, especially given his private childhood with his father’s line of work. Interacting with others was far from his specialty. He had no idea how to respond to it, instead just trying to push forward. “S-so… how much for an hour?” He could tell Pip didn’t want to get back out there, but his father had seemed to make it clear he needed to participate in whatever was going to go down tonight. This would be a compromise.

“An hour?” Angel asked, looking baffled. “That long?” He’d intended to make it quick, but this was the best possible outcome. With a slow breath, he took a step closer with his trembling legs. “I-I gotta make six thousand tonight, s-so whatever you can spare, whatever you think I’m worth…” He was suddenly dropping to his knees, crawling, begging, face bright red in shame. “Please…”

Now Damien  _ really  _ didn’t know what to do with drop in character. No longer did the man in front of him look sexual and filled with lust. Now he looked innocent and pained and desperate, as if those six thousand would save his life.

He couldn’t bear that look on his face.

“Okay,” he muttered, simply holding the entire wallet out to him. He didn’t care anymore, as long as it would stop. “Take whatever you need out of it.”

Angel just stared up at him, unable to speak. “N-no,” he finally muttered, “I couldn’t, I… Eric would be so suspicious, he’d think I was stealing if I got it all at once, I…” But his hands were taking it from Damien’s, selfishly curling it towards his chest. He needed it, he needed it so badly. With shame in his eyes he pulled out the bills, counting them quietly to himself until he had a perfect six thousand. “I’m sorry, I-I’m not exactly worth this amount, but I’ll try--”

“Don’t apologize,” Damien said more harshly than intended, “I’m paying for an hour’s company. If he sees you gone for an hour, the money won’t be suspicious.” Taking back his much lighter wallet to tuck it back away, Damien was suddenly realizing he was expecting something more than just a dance or a round of sex. The scary thing to him was that he didn’t know what that  _ more  _ could possibly be as he looked down at the boy still settled between his thighs.

Angel on the other hand was dizzy with joy. Eric wouldn’t hurt him, not for the money at least. “Anything you want,” he breathed, head spinning. “Anything you want from me, I’ll do it, anything you desire…” he laid his head on Damien’s thigh, those watering eyes gazing adoringly up into his.

Damien just swallowed harshly, unable to break that eye contact. Despite the way his pants felt a little too tight, the thought of another sexual act just wasn’t satisfying anymore. Angel had dropped the more sensual attitude, showing a much more genuine and natural side of himself, and Damien couldn’t seem to get enough of it. He wanted those big doe eyes and gentle smile and the look of relief on his face unmasked by forced lust. “What would  _ you  _ want?” he dared to ask.

“W-what I...What I want?” Angel asked, suddenly lifting his head. In all his life, that was a question that had never graced his ears. “By all respect, I’m just a whore, it’s not my choice.”

“I don’t appreciate you calling yourself a whore,” Damien said quickly, not believing the words he was hearing despite having just paid for intimacy and the literal truth behind it. “So, as your customer, I’m giving you an order. Pick something to do that  _ you  _ want.” 

Angel didn’t look at him, eyes on the floor. “I’ll just suck you off then,” he muttered, reaching for Damien’s pants with his delicate fingers working the zipper. In the dim lighting of the room, the makeup slathered over scarred wrists was not holding up the way he had hoped.

“No, stop,” Damien was suddenly saying, having noticed. Impulsive, he reached for his arm, catching him by the wrist and lifting it to see better. “Did someone hurt you?”

Angel had been grabbed roughly a few too many times for comfort, yanking his wrist away and wincing. “I’m sorry,” he shouted, starting to cry, “no!”

Just as quick as he had grabbed, Damien let go, floundering out apologies. “N-no, wait, don’t,” he said, hands just opening and closing midair as he tried to figure out how to help.

Angel was melting down before him, hands over his face as he let his body curl in upon itself. He was pulling the money he’d been given from his pockets, trying to shove it back towards him. “Please take a refund, I can’t do this, I don’t care if Cartman beats me or fucks me or kills me tonight without it, I--”

“He’s going to  _ what _ ?!” Damien growled, engulfed in rage. “I told you to keep that money, you’re going to keep it. Stand up, come here.” Unsure what else to do, Damien took him by the arms and lifted him up onto the couch beside him as Angel continued to cry. “Listen, nobody is going to hurt you, I fucking  _ promise _ .”

Angel had never cried in front of a client before, not even when he was treated so roughly he wished he had died on the streets instead. Yet Damien’s words were soothing, listening to his voice and rubbing at his eyes. 

“Christ…” Damien ran his fingers through his hair, just staring at Angel. What a confession. Speaking as softly as possible, he forced his anger to take a back seat. “Angel… did that scumbag of a boss hurt you? Did he give you these marks?”

Angel couldn’t lie, biting his lip. “Those ones are mine,” he admitted, rubbing at a wrist protectively. “Some are from clients, some are from Cartman. He gets rough when he’s unhappy.” 

“He can’t treat you like that just because you’re a stripper.” Angel deserved better than this. “It’s not like he fucking owns you.”

“But he does!” Angel confessed, every secret beginning to spill. “He owns me, it’s part of our deal, my debt to him. He got me off the streets and now I’m his. We all are.”

“You’re in debt to him?” Damien, although selfish, didn’t care about the other dancers or think of what Pip’s words implied for them. He only cared about the angelic beauty before him, about drying his eyes and taking him away from this sinful place. “Just because he was a decent human being once doesn’t mean he can control you for the rest of your life.”

“He saved me, I’d be dead by now if he hadn’t, so… so I just listen to him and do what he wants. It’s all I can do.” Angel rubbed at his eyes again, mascara running down his cheeks. “I make him so much money, he probably will never let me go, and if I disobey it’s only going to be much worse…” As Angel let himself lean against the back of the couch, he winced when the bruise on his upper arm touched in just the right way.

Damien’s eyes darkened. “Show me. Now.”

“What?”

“Let me see under your shirt!” Damien’s hands were suddenly at the hem, practically begging him with his eyes. “Show me.”

Angel let out a sigh, gripping it himself. With shaking hands he lifted the shirt, tossing it aside and showing off an array of damage that had been done to his pale, soft skin. Scarred and bruised in ways that may not ever fully heal, Damien had seen enough.

“That’s it,” he said, standing up, “I’m going to kill him.”

“No, NO!” Angel shrieked, grabbing at his arm to try and pull him back down. “Please, if you say  _ anything  _ to him I am  _ dead _ ! You don’t understand how he works, he’ll hurt me, he’ll hurt my friends!”

Damien frankly didn’t care about the other strippers, but it was obvious they mattered to Angel. If Damien made a mistake, he knew he would never forgive him. “Fine,” he sighed, turning back towards him but not sitting down. “You say you’re in debt to him?”

Angel nodded, still trembling. “He never tells me how much, just takes all my money. I don’t keep my tips.”

“The tip I specifically gave to you.” Damien crunched some numbers in his head, thinking of his family’s wealth and his ever-growing personal savings. “And where exactly is this debt coming from?”

“Everything he’s provided me, you know, like keeping me in his house and feeding me.” Angel counted it on his fingers. “Plus every time I’ve fucked up and cost him something… It’s probably very high.”

Damien knew these next words were going to change everything. “And… if I paid it off?”

There was silence in the room.

Angel felt like his heart was going to explode. Mocha has said he would find a knight in shining armor… and now, Damien looked like he was  _ glowing _ . “Y-you’d do that? For me?”

“I offered, didn’t I?”

Angel melted into tears again, this time in gratitude. “I don’t even know what to say,” he said, overwhelmed. “Where would I go? Just back on the streets again, I don’t even know your name to even…” he trailed off, looking up at Damien with those soft eyes. “To even  _ thank you _ .”

“My name is Damien Thorn.” Damien held out a hand, the only context he knew for introducing himself was with a shake. “I can offer you my home if you tell me your real name. I know it can’t possibly be ‘Angel’.” No matter how fitting that sounded.

With stars in his eyes, Angel’s voice was hardly audible. It felt like a dangerous, forbidden thing to utter it inside of the club. “Phillip. Phillip Pirrup, but my friends call me Pip.”

“Phillip…” Damien let it roll on his tongue for a moment. “Phillip Pirrup, would you like me to pay off your debt?”

All Angel could do was nod, too overwhelmed to speak. “If Eric lets me go,” he said, “I would love to stay with you.”

“I’ll make sure he does.” Damien had always gotten what he wanted. He was sure with the show of a little cash he could make this happen. He’d heard rumor about that man his father seemed so interested in, that he had tried to buy the freedom of his own boyfriend but simply hadn’t offered the right price.

Damien had to be different. 

With joy in his heart, Angel threw his arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

Damien stiffened by accident, unsure what to do with his hands as the other boy embraced him. It was almost overwhelming, this direct form of affection. He’d never gotten much more than a pat on the back from his father, but Angel was different. Carefully, cautiously, he let his own hands wrap around him and attempt to return the sentiment. “O-of course?”

Angel gave one more quick squeeze before pulling him back down with him onto the couch in a fit of giggles. He didn’t care about work anymore, he was practically a free man.

Without thinking, he took Damien’s face in his hands and kissed him with joy.

His lips tingled. His heart pounded. Was this was love felt like? Was this what he had been deprived of all of his life?

Damien was taken back, but returned it anyhow. He’d vowed to never be like his father all his life, to never get too attached or develop feelings. He’d never kissed anyone before despite being far from a virgin. It seemed too personal, too real, but here he was, happily playing along.

When they finally broke apart, Angel was breathless. “We still have our hour,” he said, looking absolutely flustered. “My offer stands, anything you want!”

Damien just let out a laugh of his own, gently shaking his head. “Let me be your first and  _ only  _ outside the job once we get home,” he insisted, hands tender as they began to wander. “You’ll never have to lift a hand again, never have to work to survive. You’ll be served by my family’s staff, you can sleep in the softest bed you could possibly imagine.” The words spilled from his lips like poetry as a fantasy began to build up in his mind as Angel’s legs wrapped around his waist.

“That sounds amazing,” Angel said, unable to remember a time where a bed felt safe or comfortable. Yet, something about that little dream Damien was planting in his brain felt odd. “Wait, your staff? Who  _ are  _ you?”

“That’s cute, acting as if you don’t already know just from my name.” Here Damien thought the dancers could identify the gang leaders who frequented the bars. He supposed he would have to explain. “If you really don’t know,” he said in near awe at his innocence, “I’m part of the infamous Thorn family. I come here often with my father to make deals with our syndicate.”

“Syndicate?” Angel asked, thinking about it. “So like what Mocha’s partner does? Crime, drugs, that sort of stuff… see, I only know what he tells me. Eric doesn’t like me getting into his business, so I’m not, um, supposed to ask customers about it.”

Damien supposed that explained it. “Well, I suppose you could put it that way.” He did plenty more than simple crimes and drugs with his father, but he supposed he could leave it vague for simplicity's sake. The little things that Tucker did was nothing compared to him.

“Then you really could get through to Eric, couldn’t you?” Angel pulled him closer again, into his strong and safe and warm chest. “I don’t know how much he’d like to cooperate.”

“My father is the leader of the largest syndicate in this country,” Damien laughed, enamored with how sweet Angel could be. “I’ll make sure he cooperates. You won’t have to call yourself that stage name anymore or step foot in this place again.”

No more being Angel? With a few blinks of his eyes, Pip felt himself shed his disguise. Everything felt clearer now. Damien helped him up off the bench, a smile on his face as he reached for his wallet again. “You’ve still got the money I gave you earlier?”  
  
“Yes,” Pip said, nodding eagerly.

“Hold onto that, a little starting point for buying your freedom.” With that, Damien took him by the hand and off they went back into the main room.

By the end of the night, Pip would surely be free.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v: step 1: find pip  
> step 2: ???  
> step 3: free pip
> 
> c: double upload babeyyyyyyyy aw yeah

Back in the smokey, loud center of the club, Eric huffed on his cigar with a smug grin on his face. “What, here for a complaint?” he asked, eyeing Pip as Damien brought him over. “I know the cheap slut isn’t worth much, but it’s not my problem if you overpaid for his service.”

“Actually,” Damien said with a glare, “after a great round of service, we began to talk.” How badly he wished he could kill him right here and now, but causing a scene in front of his father would be a stupid decision. “I learned of the debt he owes you.”

With a raise of an eyebrow, Eric slowly pulled the cigar with his mouth with a huff. His free hand grabbed for Pip’s wrist, yanking him back towards the couch until he fell into his lap. “Angel,” he cooed through grit teeth, possessively petting at his hair, “you’re not supposed to  _ talk about that _ .” He blew a ring of smoke into his face, a dangerous look in his eyes before glancing back up at Damien. “You know how deals work, Thorn, so I suggest you mind your business.”

Damien’s hands were trembling in anger now at the sight of Pip slipping back into that submissive, terrified attitude. “I understand how they work, but I also understand that any debt can be paid.” 

“He works for his keep, and that’s that,” Eric said, getting annoyed. There was no doubt he would be punished tonight for letting his secrets slip. “I take care of him, he works for me. It’s a fair trade off if I say so myself. He owes me his life, and he’s too good a source of income for me to let go. It all works out in the end.” He spoke as if Pip wasn’t even there. “Like I said: Mind. Your.  _ Business _ .”

Damien wasn’t about to back down-- no, he  _ couldn’t  _ back down. He’d always gotten what he wanted,  _ always _ , and the fact that Eric was flat out saying no was infuriating. If he wanted Pip, there was no reason why he could not have him. Besides, Eric wouldn’t dare start something anyway in the middle of his establishment in front of his patrons. “What if I take care of him? If he stays with me? I’ll pay off his damn debt so he doesn’t have to live with a  _ swine  _ like you any longer!” Damien grabbed at Pip again, pulling him back away like a ragdoll.

Pip wasn’t present enough to say anything, eyes empty as they fought. Who was he now, Pip or Angel? He couldn’t quite decide.

“He’s not for sale,” Eric insisted, “what part of  _ he belongs to me _ do you not understand, Thorn? I can’t afford to lose him. He’ll make me more money than his debt would ever be worth.” He glared across the room to the table where Craig and the others were discussing their own deal. “You know Tucker? Craig Tucker? He came onto the trade scene just so he could try to save his precious little Mocha. He gives me what I want and I let the little whore live with him, but Craig knows he’s still gotta bring him to work and let me have a piece of him every one in a while, or…” he laughed to himself. “You know.”

Damien glanced back towards the table his father was keeping an eye on before scanning the crowd, finding the dancer he could only assume was this Mocha character. Standing up straight, he adjusted his tie and tried to clear his mind of the violent thoughts bubbling up inside. “And if I offer the same deal?” Of course, he had no intention of bringing Pip back.

“Hell fucking no,” Eric said, narrowing his eyes. “I could overpower Tucker without even lifting a finger. He’s easily intimidated by me. I know I can get what I want from him. You?” He snorted. “You’re more of a wild card. I don’t trust you.”

“I appreciate your praise,” Damien said, shaking his head in disbelief as he tried to keep Pip close to him, “but you know that when I want something, I make sure I get it.” He leaned forward, getting in his face. “And I get it through any means necessary.”

“Well, looks like you’ll have to go crying home to daddy,” Eric spat in his face, “because no can do.” Before Damien could react he was pulling Pip back towards him, yanking him down to eye level and hissing into his ear. “Get back to work,  _ now _ ,” he demanded, shoving him away.

Just like that,  _ Angel  _ went scrambling back into the crowd, terrified enough to obey.

Damien didn’t know what to do, frozen in pure rage. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted, and he could not handle it. It didn’t help that his father was trying to wave him over, a scowl on his face. “Fuck you,” was all he could shout before turning away and marching off like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Eric just let out a chuckle, settling back into his seat. 

From the front of the club, unknown to Eric from his distraction with Damien, Kyle had watched their entire exchange from a distance. It had been hard to make out exactly what they had been saying with the blaring music over the loudspeaker, but he had picked out enough to know that little blonde dancer making his way through the crowd could be the key to the information he needed to save his job and crack his case. With cash in hand from David, he began to make his way towards him, keeping his head low before he approached.

Angel didn’t even hear what it was he was asking as Kyle’s hand touched his arm, hazy eyes glancing his direction. Something about a dance? He had the six thousand still in his pocket, but with how much trouble he was going to be in, he could use that extra money. Besides, this was a man he had never seen before, so maybe he could get some extra off of him with how intent he seemed on getting a dance. Following his usual script, he took him by the arm and pulled him towards the private back room.

Something about this felt different though, like somehow this strange man wasn’t actually interested in getting this dance despite the money he was offering.

Kyle didn’t mean for his hands to be shaking as he was led into the back room, sitting himself down on the couch and taking a few deep breaths to steady his nerves. He didn’t like this entire club, but being trapped in this back room was almost too much to handle. “I paid for a regular dance,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “but how much for some… information?”

That sudden, odd question made Angel flicker back into reality. That wasn’t the usual think a customer asked for. “Information?” This guy wasn’t a cop, was he? Eric told him never to engage with anyone who was suspicious. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, I just give lap dances, nothing else!”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Kyle tried to calm him, still carefully choosing his words. Angel’s behavior was making him feel guilty for even being a part of this exchange. “I saw that scene between you and… what’s his name, that guy you were with?” He needed to pretend he knew nothing at all.

“Thorn,” Angel admitted, no longer being careful. “I don’t know him, he was only a customer.” It made his heart ache to even say that. He had been so close, and now he was trapped again. He couldn’t help but wonder what Eric would do to him tonight for the escape he had tried to pull. “My boss was cross with me for speaking to him, and I don’t want to get in trouble again, s-so…”

The poor thing was terrified, so beaten down and helpless. Kyle was familiar with it, and how to get around it. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said gently, pulling Pip onto his lap and trying to appear as friendly as possible. His hands felt like they were on fire as he dared to touch him. It was information, it was all for information… “I can imagine how terrifying it is to face your boss that way. I don’t think Thorn looked too scared though. He looked like he was trying to defend you, but from what?”

It was working, Angel melting into his comfort. “E-Eric isn’t…” He already felt a pang of guilt, but he was already going to be punished for speaking with Damien. He might as well keep going. “He isn’t the best to me. I’m practically his slave, he does whatever he wants to me, and Thorn wanted to… to try and bail me out.”

Hah. There it was. “Did he bail you out? Where’s your debt coming from?” They had a sort of connection going on now, and Kyle couldn’t afford to lose it. “Surely Eric understands how a business legally runs.” Of course the bastard didn’t care. “He can’t keep you like that.” 

“He couldn’t bail me out, no, b-but…” The second part? “I can’t tell you that,” Angel said suddenly, almost in tears. “I can’t tell you, I might get in trouble for what I’ve done.” He was suspicious enough of Kyle, he couldn’t just admit to prostitution in front of him. 

Now a little more genuine, Kyle reached out to try and wipe the tears from his eyes. He felt pity for him- he knew a bad situation when it was sobbing in front of him. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what a person deserved, and he had to fix it. It was his  _ job _ . “This is… awful.” And something he could use against Eric, and to an extent, Damien. “Since I can tell this isn’t good night for you, I’ll pay for the time you spent with me. No dance needed if I can ask a couple more questions.” He wouldn’t put him through anything more than he had to, even if that money was going to go right into Eric’s pocket.

Angel sniffled, feeling a wave of relief. “Thank you, thank you…” He couldn’t handle another dance right now. “I’ll try my best, but I don’t know much. Eric keeps me in the dark about most stuff, I really only get told what Mocha and Buttercup know.”  
  
“The other dancers, right,” Kyle hummed. “They’re in this same debt? Doesn’t sound like three dancers making tips is enough to pay for it.”

“It’s not. Eric takes all the money,” Angel sighed. “We don’t even know how much we owe him. We just work and work and work, that’s it.” The longer he was spending with this man, the more comfortable he was feeling. He just seemed to  _ understand _ in a totally different way than Damien had. It was pulling him into a false sense of security. “We just have to do what he says or he’ll punish us.” 

“And what exactly can he order you to do that doesn’t already come from being a stripper?” Kyle just needed to get him to say it. He just needed a single admittance, something he could add to his compilation of evidence against the man still enjoying a smoke by the stage. He needed a victim, a witness, anything. He was completely ignoring his chief's orders now, forgetting all about the Thorn case. This was about his own selfish interests now.

Angel felt backed into a corner. He had to say it, he had to. If this guy was a cop, he was  _ fucked _ . “I gotta give customers, uh, special treatment for extra cash.”

“What kind of treatment?” Play dumb, get a full confession.

Angel was embarrassed to say it, face going red. “Like I have to have sex with them if they want it, and Mocha has to help him get the drugs from his boyfriend a-and--” he lost it completely, starting to cry. “I’m sorry, please, I can’t get in trouble, don’t tell anyone!”

That was alright, Kyle had everything he needed now. “It’s okay,” he insisted. “You won’t get in trouble. Remember, I’m just a guy who wanted a dance, that’s all.” He pressed the money he had offered into Angel’s hand with a smile. “Take care of yourself,” he said before leaving him alone.

Once again, Angel was in a haze. He wasn’t sure what Kyle had said. Something about caring about someone… he wasn’t too sure. But he was outside of the private room again, hands grabbing at him to beg for even a smile from him for enough cash. 

He couldn’t even make it to the bathroom for a moment’s clarity like Kyle did.

Kyle was inside the dimly lit room, the music shaking the walls but barely able to get through. It was all fuzz to his ears as he held his hands under scorching water and washed them over and over and over again. He could still see it all. The glitter on his palms. The scuffs from rough sequins. The dirt from the money that burned a hole in his pockets.

Gripping the sides of the sink, he felt dizzy. The room was shaking. He could barely stand up.

Staring up at the broken mirror, his eyes focused on the writing on it; tacky, sticky, dirtied lip gloss that no longer shimmered or shined was drawn into a long cursive scrawl. At the very corner of the writing was a kiss that was smudged over and covered with dirt and dust.

He couldn’t handle it anymore.

Running out of the bathroom, Kyle took a moment to collect himself before walking over to the bar to see the only face he could even stomach right now. Trying to appear confident, as he should with the amount of evidence he’d collected in barely ten minutes, he took a seat in front of Kenny and gave him as much of an easy smile as he could. “I’ll have a Manhattan.”

Kenny’s jaw nearly dropped. “Well, well, well,” he said, going to pour his drink. “Fancy seeing you here. Didn’t think you liked these kinds of places.” 

“I don’t,” Kyle said, quirking a brow, “but I like to change things up at times. Not to mention I heard you’re the best bartender around.”

Kenny couldn’t help the suspicious look on his face as he slid over the drink. “I am,” he said carefully, resting his elbows on the counter. “Did she send you here?” He kept his voice low.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I did what I wanted to do and I finished up here,” Kyle said, sipping at his drink. “Damn, you  _ are  _ good.”

Kenny let out a snort. “Be careful, then.” He glanced across the room. It looked like Craig’s group were finishing up their deal. “Lot’s of activity tonight. We got the little guys, and we got…” he swallowed thickly. “We got the big guys here too. At least we did, I think  _ he  _ just left.” Satan was gone, but Damien appeared to be lingering.

Kyle craned his neck to look where Kenny seemed to be pointing with his eyes. He had a clear view of Damien looking angered in his booth. “Don’t worry, I just need to get a ride and I’ll be leaving in a second.” A text to David letting him know everything had gone smoothly was all he needed and there wouldn’t be any issues. He’d tell Wendy that he saw both Thorns at the club and then drop the bomb he had gathered on his own terms. “But… who are the little guys?” He couldn’t deny that he was curious.

Kenny leaned in a little closer. “Tucker,” he said slowly, “Marsh, and Stevens… plus a couple of lackeys.”

Kyle quirked a brow. “Stevens. Sounds familiar.” He took another sip of his drink. “Who’s he?”

“ _ She _ ,” Kenny corrected, suddenly looking away again. “She’s got a group pretty close to here. Well known for dealing weaponry. You haven’t heard of her before?”

Kyle followed his gaze towards a pair of curtains at the back of the room. Through them he could make out a few figures at a back door, unloading a few crates from the back of a truck-- a woman with blonde hair, a woman with red, and a man with black. The latter looked oddly familiar, but he couldn’t make them out clear enough to really say. “I deal with drugs.” And whatever Eric was getting up to, on his own accord. “Haven’t had much time with weapons. That’s more  _ her  _ speed, you know?”

Kenny nodded again. “Well, you tell  _ her  _ what you saw, and she’ll be pleased with you. Hear you’ve been yelled at left and right.” He looked down, casually pouring another drink for himself with an amused smirk. “What have you been up to, Broflovski?”

Kyle just swirled the ice in his glass, chuckling bitterly. “Trying to save my own ass. We’ve all got our own little worries to deal with.” Desperate to change the topic, he tried to strike up different conversation. “For example, how’s your sister doing?”

“As best as she can,” Kenny said with a shrug, throwing back a shot. “At least with what I can give her. She’s doing alright with school, I’m keeping her fed, so… you can say it’s better than it used to be.”

“At times that’s all you can do… I know she sees how hard you work for her.” Kyle wished the situation with Kenny and his sister wasn’t so difficult, but like he said, at least it was an improvement.

Kenny gave a weak smile. “Thanks,” he said, setting the glass back down on the counter with a shake of his head. “You know, I-” he suddenly paused, furrowing his brow as the sight of someone entering the building caught his attention.

This wasn’t just some sleazy guy looking for a dance. No, he looked like trouble.

Everything began to move in slow motion as Kyle followed his gaze, settling on the man making his way inside. No, no,  _ no _ , he needed to leave  _ now.  _ Grabbing a few bucks for a tip, he slammed it down on the bar and stood up. “Thanks for the drink but I think I should be going,” he muttered. He had specifically told David not to interfere, and yet he had sent someone from his gang into the club. This could only end poorly, and with his cover so easily blown, he couldn’t give him the opportunity to cause a scene or for anyone to have known he was there.

Token, however, had already noticed.

The deal had just barely closed, the shipment and the weapons successfully negotiated and being swapped behind the building, but he knew this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as anticipated. He recognized that red haired man as the cop they’d encountered at the dock, and the man entering the room as someone who had shot at them. Faced with only a few seconds of judgement as he made eye contact with their rival, he leapt at Craig to tackle him to the floor. “FUCK, DROP!”

Kyle whipped on his heels at the shout, his own face contorting in fear as Token and Craig ducked, Clyde scrambling for his gun. Unable to risk it, he dove towards a table for cover as David’s lackey pulled his own gun, finger having been on the trigger before even entering, firing in the other gang’s direction.

The entire club burst into madness at the sound of gunshot.

Customers either hit the floor or went running for the entrance. Buttercup was still on the stage doing his routine, Angel and Mocha in the middle of the dancefloor without an escape.

Kenny had gone sprinting across the room towards the dancer still trapped on the stage, leaping on top of him to cover him with his own body.

From just below them, Mocha finally came to his senses at the sight, dropping to his hands and knees. He didn’t understand what the hell was going on, but the only place he could think to hide was the back room. He began to crawl his way over, managing to slip past the curtain and slip under one of the mirrored vanities. 

“What the fuck is going on?!” Stan shouted, having come back into the room from the parking lot with the blonde woman he had been talking to.

“They started firing at Craig,” Mocha gasped out, hysterical. “You’ve gotta do something!”

“Move aside, sweetie, mama’s got this,” Bebe laughed, giving Stan a little shove as she cocked an AK over her shoulder. “You won’t need to worry about a thing, the professionals are here.” And off she went, heels clicking against the floor as she took off running into the fray.

“Aren’t you going to help?!” Mocha gasped, yanking at his hair.

Stan just stared at him for a moment, breath catching in his throat. “No,” he said, utterly terrified. He couldn’t protect himself, not without Gary. “Go back to Craig.” With that, he took off running the other direction out the back door.

Mocha just watched in utter confusion, his heart beating faster. Craig, that was right, Craig was still out on the main floor with an injury during a  _ goddamn shoot out _ . “Fuck!” he gasped, scrambling back out from under the vanity with the screams of gunfire echoing in his ears. He crawled back through the curtain and began to desperately search from the safety of the floor.

He needed to find Craig  _ now _ .

Back in the main room, Craig, Clyde and Token were already trying to plot their escape. “I don’t plan on getting shot a second time today!” Craig shouted over the noise, watching as Bebe kicked over a table and began to help guard them. 

“We gotta grab Tweek!” Clyde shouted, looking around frantically for him. He had no idea where he’d managed to escape to, unable to see him anymore.

From the booth at the back of the room, Damien realized this was his only shot.

Taking advantage of the confusion, he found himself pulling his own gun and darting across the room. Leaping from table to table in a maneuver only someone well-versed in these situations could know, he made his way to the main floor where Angel was trying desperately to stay out of the line of fire. “Get up,” he shouted, grabbing him by the arm. “Back exit!”

Angel was in shock, but he forced his legs to move as Damien dragged him across the room. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he gasped, knowing better than to ask questions. 

Damien ignored his chants in favor of shoving aside the curtains, making a B-line for the back door. He could see his personal car parked in the back-- thank god he had been smart enough to learn from the night before to drive himself in case his father had dared to take off early. “Get in, and don’t look back!”

Angel leapt into the passenger seat, gripping the armrests as Damien threw the car into full throttle and took off.

Kyle just watched everything happen with utter horror from his makeshift cover, finally knocked to his senses. He was a cop, goddammit, he was supposed to stop this! “HEY!” he shouted, jumping back to his feet. He quickly scanned the room, trying to figure out what he could possibly do.

In the process, he accidentally made eye contact with Eric.

From a distance he mouthed something in shock, but Kyle didn’t care what he was saying. He could give less of a shit what the other man was realizing right now as he jumped towards David’s ‘help’. “Stop, stop, I said fucking stop! We’re gonna get in deep shit!” Desperate, he caught him by the arm and yanked him back towards the door. “WE HAVE TO LEAVE!”

Before the eyes of everyone still left, Kyle managed to convince an armed, otherwise dangerous gang member to turn and run back out the front door.

“STOP!” Eric was yelling, trying to climb over the knocked over tables and chairs to reach them.

In the safety of the ended gunfire, Mocha shot up off the floor, hair wild and eyes wide as he made contact with the others.

“Craig, now’s our chance!” Clyde hissed as the dancer began pointing frantically towards the back dressing room. Dragging his leader by the arm, the entire group ran for the door, the sound of sirens beginning to wail in the distance. 

Bebe took off ahead of them, carelessly tossing the gun she’d been firing aside as she scrambled for the red pickup truck still parked near the exit. “Fun night, boys, but it’s every girl for herself! Good luck!” She had forgotten all about the crate of weapons still sitting at the door, speeding off into the night with the rest following close behind her.

As the sirens rung in his ears, Eric wondered how he was going to explain this to the police.

For the first time in years, the club was almost completely silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c: we're homestucking this bitch, this is only the beginning


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v: hahahahaha i have midterms this week...  
> c: next week is me and vals anniversary im sneaking in this message to tell her I love her :) <3

In the quiet of the now empty building, Buttercup could only hear the pounding of his heartbeat and the soft breathing of the man who had jumped to his aid. Curled into Kenny’s chest as he protected him with his own body, his tears were less of fear and more of surprise that someone would put their own life on the line to protect someone like  _ him _ , someone whom to most people had been worth nothing. His voice finally came as a little squeak. “Is it safe?”

“Yeah, the police are coming and nobody got hurt,” Kenny soothed him, slowly sitting up once he knew it was safe. The shooters had left, and so had Kyle. “You alright?”

“I think so,” Buttercup said, but he didn’t want Kenny to leave his side. They weren’t exactly close by any means with how few times they managed to speak, but this just felt so right.

The fantasy brewing in his mind couldn’t last forever. From the other end of the club, Eric was suddenly screaming back their direction. “Buttercup, get your ass down here  _ now _ ! You need to go find Angel and Mocha or so help me I will fucking murder you!” He kicked at an overturned table, pulling at his hair. The police were going to come inside any minute now, his property had been destroyed, and now he didn’t know what had happened to his employees. “You have literally five minutes!”

“Yes, sir!” Before Kenny could stop him, Buttercup scrambled to his feet, kicking off his heels and leaping down the stairs back to the main floor. The last he’d seen his friends, they had been right in front of him, and now it was way too quiet for them to still be here. In a mad dash he scanned the main building and the private room, finding both empty. When he tried the back room, the wide open door leading out of the building only told him one thing. “I can’t find them, I can’t find them anywhere and the door is open!” 

“MOTHER FUCKERS!” Eric screamed. Tucker knew better than to grab and run, and Angel? Well, that was an easy guess. “That little slut ran off with Thorn!” There was no other possible explaination; he was going to find and murder them both if they didn’t show up to work tomorrow. Turning back to Buttercup as he came back out of the dressing room, he motioned him closer before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “You stay right here with me or you’re done for, understand? You keep your mouth shut for the police, you don’t say a  _ peep  _ about what you saw here tonight or what you do for me.”

Buttercup just nodded and nodded and nodded, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. “Best behavior, I swear!” he gasped. He just had to cooperate and he wouldn’t get in trouble. All he could think about was how lucky the other two were, praying for their sake they never would return. 

“Good.” Eric let go, giving him a little shove as he heard the door into the club open again. “She’s here, go make yourself useful and start cleaning up.”

Buttercup just stumbled away, rubbing at his eyes. He couldn’t dare look at Kenny as he hurried to go find a broom, bare feet carefully tiptoeing around broken glass.

With their expected company now present, Eric knew it was time for a little performance of his own. Putting on a grateful expression before turning around, the sight of the woman approaching made him wish he could roll his eyes and pull faces. He recognized the chief right away; this wasn’t the first time she had come calling. “Oh, thank goodness you finally showed up!” He cried out, acting like he wanted them anywhere near his building. “I don’t even know what happened!”

“We got a call from a patron about an altercation,” Wendy replied, glancing over to where Buttercup and Kenny seemed to be comforting each other as they tidied up. “We’ll need a description of all members involved and any other details you can provide for us.” The fact that this had happened the night two of her best officers had been present was all the more concerning. The club was no stranger on her list to being a hub for crime, but right now all she needed to focus on was what she had been called in to handle. Unlike Kyle, she knew when the time was right.

“Sure, sure,” Eric said, trying to play along. Fucking bitch, he wished he could curse her out for sending someone undercover in his establishment. The minute he’d locked eyes with Kyle, he had known he was on her side. He began to describe for her everyone involved, from the man who had started the fight to Craig’s entire gang to Bebe and Stan. “And,” he said bitterly, wanting to throw her officer under the bus, “there was a man with red hair and a dark jacket who ran out with the first guy.”

Wendy wrote everything down, but paused at the reveal. “Is that so? Did you happen to catch a name or any other details?” She didn’t want to believe Kyle would do such a thing, but the glances Kenny was sending her from across the room was not a good sign. “Any defining features of this man?”

It was all too easy, the words spilling from his mouth. “He was a decent height, a little taller than me. Pale skin and freckles all over his cheeks and nose, kinda sharp features.” But it wasn’t all Eric could see at first glance. “He had thicker brows, but they were neat. His hair was red and curled; nicely styled. He had long lashes, eyes were hazel.” He added as a note, “more green than brown.” 

“Alright,” Wendy said, trying to hold back a sigh. His oddly detailed description was a bit alarming, but all she could think about was slaughtering Kyle when she saw him back at the station. This was getting serious, her trust in him fading. “Is that all?”

“No,” Eric said slowly, another thought coming to mind. There was still one more person he hadn’t gotten back at. Damien Thorn, the property stealing bastard… “I have another tip for you.”

“A tip?” That caught her attention. “Any information is valuable.”

Eric forced himself not to grin. “I, uh, saw the Thorn family in here tonight,” he said. “Notably the son. He was getting it on with one of my strippers.” Eric knew better than to go toe to toe with Damien and his father, but they’d crossed a line. Even if he would lose, he had to push back. “I might have the licence plate of his car… he kidnapped one of my dancers for ransom, and I saw him drive off.” Thank god for his security cameras. 

“For ransom? How much is he demanding you pay?” Wendy asked. She’d have another officer get the plate number with him while they were wrapping up. “Can we have a description of your employee? Any defining features to look out for? If you know where they could be headed, that would be a big help too.”

“Ten thousand,” Eric lied, trying to act like he gave a damn about Angel’s well-being. Really, the only thing that mattered was if he would be back making him money. “He’s a little thing, just barely in his twenties. Petite, maybe no bigger than 5’4, maybe 5’5. Blonde hair to his shoulders, blue eyes, soft face…” Features that had been apparently too popular for Damien to resist. “They’re probably heading back to his place, but I don’t know where they operate out of.”

Wendy furrowed her brow as she wrote that down as well, but something didn’t line up. “Ten thousand, huh?” She didn’t know the full total of what the Thorn family’s fortune could be worth, but she knew ten thousand would be chump change. It didn’t make sense for that to be all he was asking for. “We’ll see what he can find in the database. In the meantime, we’ll be on the lookout for your dancer. What’s his name?”

Eric’s eyes went blank for a moment. “He goes by Angel,” he said, “uh, here in the club.” 

“His legal name, sir.”

Fuck. Snapping his fingers, Eric motioned for Buttercup to come and join them. “Can you help tell this nice officer who our dear Angel is?”

Buttercup hoped the evidence of his tears had been dried enough as he looked up at her. “His name is Phillip,” he sniffled. “Phillip Pirrup but he likes to be called Pip.” Leaning over to look at her notepad, he was careful to spell it out just right. Deep down he didn’t want to tell her, afraid of his friend to be found and returned, but he feared Eric’s retribution too much if he had lied.

“Thanks,” Eric said, giving him an awkward pat on the head before giving him a little nudge back towards his work. “Don’t mind him, he’s just hysterical from the gunfire,” he tried to assure Wendy, watching him stumble back off. “Sensitive guy, ya know?”

“It can take a toll on people,” Wendy muttered, watching as Kenny seemed to immediately comfort him again. “I can help make sure he gets home safe and sound in my cruiser? I don’t want anyone else to go missing.”

“He’s…” Eric grinned as nicely as he could. “He’s my  _ boyfriend _ , you see, so I’ll make sure he’s getting home with  _ me _ just fine.” Of course, he’d never see Buttercup that way, but he would lie for the sake of a story. “Angel, er, Phillip… he also lives with us. You know, those two are friends and all, that’s why we’re worried about him being missing. The Thorns, they…” he pretended to start crying, fishing for a handkerchief. “He knows how much I  _ care  _ about him, so he’s trying to get me to pay up.”

Wendy wasn’t a fool. She’d needed to cover a bruise or two with foundation in her life, and Buttercup’s tears had washed away enough to reveal plenty to her. She didn’t trust him for a second when it came to either dancer. She had no intention of bringing Pip back, and she would surely be returning to get Buttercup when it was safer to do so and she had more evidence. “Do you have any idea why the Thorns are pulling this?” There had to be a reason why they’d go through so much trouble to steal a stripper, ask for so little and have no apparent beef with the owner of the club. There had to be more going on here.

Shit. Eric had to think for a moment. “I...he… got upset with me,” he said slowly. “He tried to go over the time he was allowed with Angel for a private dance, and he didn’t want to pay for more time. We got in a yelling match. I guess he just liked him enough to…  _ steal him _ .” He was playing up the theatrics to the max.

“He wouldn’t pay.” Interesting. “Well… me and my team would like to take a look around for a moment, see if we can pick anything up about what went down here tonight. We won’t be intrusive, just keeping an eye out for any left weapons, possible trails, things like that.” 

Eric nodded, trying to remain calm. He knew he had nothing in the building to deal with; he’d already taken care of his shipment and gotten it to a secure location.  _ He  _ wouldn’t get busted. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna take my boyfriend into the back room. Calm him down, yeah?” Calm him down, right, more like kick his ass for being unable to keep track of the other dancers and crying like a little bitch in front of the cops. “Take  _ all  _ the time you need to search.”

“I think I can do it,” Kenny said, completely ignoring protocol as he tried to keep Buttercup close to him. He didn’t care what Wendy was thinking with him foolishly testing Eric, risking his position in the bar undercover. He couldn’t bear to let Butters go through even more trauma for one night. “If you would just give us a few minutes-”

“I  _ will _ handle it,” Eric interrupted, pointing a finger towards the bar. “Go clean up, we’re closing early tonight.” With Wendy turning to leave with the rest of her squadron, he stepped close enough to get right in his face. “You’re on thin enough ice for daring put your hands on him tonight without permission, hear me?”

Kenny scowled back, trying to hold his ground. “Fine,  _ sir _ ,” he hissed back, taking the broom with him as he went to tidy the shattered glass as he watched Eric take Buttercup aside into the private room at the back of the club. The more time that passed, the more he was thinking that Tucker and Thorn had the right idea. He had to get Buttercup out of here.

Wandering around the messy space, Wendy just quietly took in the scene. “At least no blood,” she noted to a colleague, “seems nobody was hit.” The cool breeze of an open door lead her towards the break room behind the thin curtains, peering in to find an empty, unsuspecting room. There was makeup on the vanities and a few racks of various costume pieces. It didn’t seem too out of place until she spotted something sitting near the open door, accidentally wedging it open with how it had been kicked in somebody’s mad scramble to escape. 

“Looks like something shady,” she muttered, holding out an arm to keep the others back as she approached it. Peering into the crate, she was greeted with a wealth of guns and weaponry, just beyond it the black skid marks of a large vehicle making a fast escape. “Take pictures of this.”

“Find anything, officer?” Eric called as he entered the curtain, suspiciously watching her every move after dealing with Buttercup. 

“Box of weapons,” Wendy said, giving the crate a nudge with her foot. “Maybe have some fingerprints on them. If this shootout was calculated, this could have something to do with it. Either that, or something shady was going on in your parking lot.”

“Probably the shooter,” Eric said a bit too quickly, trying to cover his ass. “It only makes sense.” Either way, the fingerprints were not his; he didn’t touch anything beyond what had been sold directly to him. Whoever had been handling it would take the brunt of it.

“More than likely,” Wendy sighed, having another officer pick it up to confiscate as evidence. “We’ll be taking a look at it in conjunction with your information. We’ll figure it out.”

“I wish you luck,” Eric said, forcing a fake smile. Fucking  _ bitch _ . He wanted her to leave, hating she’d been called in the first place. He could have handled this mess himself without the damn law meddling with his business. 

“Thank you.” With another glance around, Wendy just kicked aside some mess as she moved to leave. “I may be returning later,” she said with a smile, leaving him with that before he could protest. As she made her way to the front door again, Buttercup finally came back out of the back room, looking shaken and close to tears. The only thing he could think to do was go over to Kenny at the bar, drying his face.

“Did he hurt you?” Kenny asked, already ignoring his responsibilities to look him over. “Did he touch you?”

“No,” Buttercup said, shaking his head in distress. “No touching, but he yelled at me…” He was already fearing the drive home. 

“What happened wasn’t your fault,” Kenny tried to soothe, wishing he could wrap him up into a hug as he sat down on the stool beside him. “He shouldn’t have yelled at you. We all just got caught up in the gunfight.”

Buttercup, couldn’t help himself, already leaning closer. “You promise?” he asked, hope shining in his eyes.

Kenny wished he could make that promise. He wanted to promise he would be safe, but he wasn’t in control of Eric’s actions. The least he knew was that Eric wouldn’t dare pull anything too stupid given that Buttercup was his last remaining dancer. “Promise,” he said hesitantly, leaning forward enough to press a tender kiss to his forehead.

Buttercup’s heart stopped, something so sweet and kind that he had never experienced before. He nearly fell off his stool as he watched Kenny quietly go back to cleaning the bar at the sight of Eric coming back over. “Thank you,” he whispered as he felt his arm grabbed to pull him away, the other hand reaching up to touch at the place he had been kissed.

“Finish up,” Eric hissed at Kenny, “We’ll sweep up the floor and then we’re going home.” Pressing another broom into Buttercup’s hand, he shoved him towards a mess on the floor. “Clean quick and maybe I won’t be so harsh later.”

Buttercup just nodded, still in his daze. Looking down at his bare feet, shoes discarded a long time ago, he kept his head down as he tried his best to hurry up. Eric set the tables back up behind him as he went along, but the more tidy the place became, the closer it was to going home. He wasn’t sure what scared him more, being here or being there.

Eric set up the last table, giving a huff before going to collect Buttercup on one arm. He felt empty handed without Angel. “Be on time tomorrow,” he hissed at Kenny as he joined them by the front door, letting him exit before locking up.

“I will,” Kenny said, glaring his way as he watched him escort Buttercup to his car. If he was brave, he would have kicked his ass and taken Buttercup instead. There were so many things he wanted to do, but the risk outweighed everything. He needed this job. He needed his job at the police station. He needed to be here for Buttercup when the timing was right. With that in mind he just clenched his fist and turned towards the bus stop, knowing he had to catch it to be on time to take Karen to school the next morning.

With Buttercup secured in the seat beside him, Eric just scoffed as he started the engine and illuminated the road before him as Kenny walked off. Things were silent, almost awkwardly so, as he began the short drive home. “There’s only one of you now,” He said, voice low. “There used to be three. Mocha left. Angel ran off. Now it’s just you.”

Buttercup was in agony, panic rising in his stomach as he stared out the window and watched the streetlights pass by. This was not the first time he had wondered if he would survive jumping out of the car and taking off running. He could run and run and run and never look back.

But he never would. 

He was too afraid to leave. Eric was the only one who seemed to somewhat care about him, be willing to put up with him, and so he stayed put. “I understand that, sir.” The words were bitter on his tongue. It just wasn’t fair, if only some strange prince charming had swept him off his feet too, far away from all of this.

“If you cooperate and behave yourself, it won’t be too bad,” Eric continued, a hand going from the steering wheel to rest possessively on his knee. “You won’t leave me, will you?”

“No sir.”

“Good.” Eric pulled into the driveway of the house, putting the car into park before pulling the keys. “I only get mad when you cause trouble.”

“Then I won’t make you mad,” Buttercup said, letting Eric open the door for him to climb out. It was almost immediate as his feet touched the driveway that he felt his persona melt away. It was like taking off a mask as he stared up at the place he had called home for so long now. He could be Butters again, though it didn’t feel right being all alone. He missed Pip, he missed Tweek, he missed having anyone around who could possibly understand.

He let his eyes drift out of focus as he was pulled into the house, his back hitting the cushions of the couch. Things were happening around him, hands on his body as he just looked up at the ceiling. Things didn’t used to always be this way. There was a time he remembered a kinder Eric, a man who had treated him well and actually given a damn about him. Those days were long gone, and he had no idea how it had gotten this bad.

“You’ve been my favorite for a long time,” Eric whispered in his ear, that voice just enough to make Butters start to fall back into his false sense of security. It was all it took, a little praise and he was reminded why it wasn’t all so bad. “You’re really pretty, you know, one of the best looking dancers. I don’t know why you don’t pick up customers as fast.”

Thank god for that. “Thank you,” Butters whimpered, letting his eyes close. He tried not to focus too hard on where those hands were going. “I’ll try harder to get more…”

“You’ll have to. With only one of you working, you’ll need to make triple from before,” Eric said, voice dripping dangerously with sweetness. “Now look at me.”

Butters opened his eyes, looking right back into Eric’s. The look of hunger and cruelty was enough to make him want to cry. Perhaps that was just what he deserved, though. All his life he had been kicked around and treated like dirt, and he had given up trying to find his fight. Anger and frustration had become something so fearful and fragile that he was sure he would break any day now. Those eyes reminded him of one thing, and one thing only as he was undressed.

Butters was only good for being abused.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c: fluff break sort of chapter..............sorry it took so long :)  
> v: if a guy and a girl are dating........ then they’re dating  
> c: ok i already gave my authors note but when i asked val what she wanted for hers and she said that i have to genuinely say i have no idea what the fuck shes talking about either

Soft light shone through a large, open window right onto Pip’s sleeping face, making him groan. Another day, another rough night at the club, another terrible morning with Eric, another--

Wait.

Sitting up carefully, he found this bed to be much bigger and softer than he remembered. Crisp white sheets surrounded him, the scent of lavender filling his nose. No, this wasn’t anywhere familiar, but it certainly was the most comfortable he had felt in his life. Looking around himself, he nearly jumped at the sight of another body laying beside him. 

The figure let out a yawn, slowly rolling towards him. When he saw his face, Pip felt nothing but relief.

“Good morning,” Damien said with a smug little grin. He had gotten exactly what he wanted, and boy did it fill him with nothing short of euphoria. “Sleep well?”

Pip met his eyes, mouth slightly agape with realization. “I’m… free,” he muttered, breath picking up in an overwhelming joy. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Oh my god, I’m free, Damien, you--”

“Shh,” Damien said, wiping a thumb along his eyes. “Yes, yes you are.” He’d do everything in his power to keep it that way. “You’re no longer under Eric’s grasp, Phillip.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Pip gasped, throwing his arms around his shoulders and hugging as tight as he could. “I owe you the world, you don’t understand just how much you’ve done for me!” He couldn’t even bring himself to think about what Eric would do when he tracked him down, but for now? He was safe from it all. No more abuse, no more customers, no more worrying if he would survive the night. 

“I told you I would take you away from him, so I did,” Damien said, almost bragging as he awkwardly returned the hug. “I told you I would take care of you and I’ll do that too. Everything you could possibly want will be yours.”

Pip just couldn’t stop hugging him, feeling forever in his debt. It wasn’t the same as Eric’s-- this was a debt he felt he wanted. “I...I hope Butters and Tweek are okay,” he found himself saying, suddenly guilty that he had left them behind. “I hope nobody got hurt…”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Damien said absently. He cared about Pip and had gotten  _ Pip  _ home safe. That was enough for him. “Those idiots who started the gunfire didn’t know what they were doing to land a shot.”

Pip nodded, rubbing at his eyes. He supposed he would trust him on that. It would ease his anxiety a little if he did. “I slept really well,” he said, trying to change the subject and not think too hard about it. “The best sleep I think I’ve ever gotten.” No yelling, no intercourse forced upon him, no worry about what the next day would bring. It had been so long since he could just breathe.

“And I bet it will get even better,” Damien assured him. “You’ll be treated like royalty here. I don’t know if you remember, you were pretty in shock, but one of the maids already took care of your wounds the best she could. Your scars will fade just as fast as you forget about that place.”

Pip didn’t think Damien understood the true scope of what he’d been through, but he appreciated that. “I don’t recall,” he said, but anything past getting in the car felt like a blur right now. 

“And,” Damien said, trying his best to be thoughtful, “If you’re hungry, I’ll have breakfast brought up for you.” It felt so odd to be offering such a thing. That was always the job of the people around him, not himself. 

“To me?” Pip just stared at him. “I...I can make things myself, you know, that’s what I’ve always done.”

“No, I would rather you stay here and let the cook bring something up for you,” Damien insisted. “You’re probably… I don’t know, traumatized or something. You should rest.” That would be the considerate thing to do.

Pip felt just as odd as Damien was, trying to make sense of it. His heart was beating fast, body warm as he flushed. Was this was being cared for felt like? Slowly, he lay back down against those soft sheets and let them lull him into closing his eyes. “Okay,” he sighed. “I will wait here.”

Damien just stared at him for a moment, that face so gentle and peaceful as he rested. He really did look just like a sleeping angel. “If you’re tired,” he whispered, “you can just go back to sleep.” He reached out his hand but hesitated just above Pip’s head, fingers just barely grazing that soft, blonde hair. “Take all the time you need.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Pip or to himself.

“I will,” Pip breathed, already half asleep.

Damien let his hand finally rest upon his head, his skin tingling at the mere touch. It was unlike anything he had felt before in his life. He wanted to be tender. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and kiss his lips and give him everything he had ever been denied. 

He was in deep. Way too deep.

With a sigh he lifted his hand, instead going off to find someone to help him make breakfast. It didn’t take long for something large and maybe a little too over-the-top to be brought up the stairs on a tray, set at the foot of the bed. Damien took a moment to prepare himself, but found the courage to gently place his hand back on Pip’s head and pat him awake.

Pip almost didn’t want to wake up, afraid it had all just been a dream, but the smell of something sweet and covered in syrup forced him upright. “Oh,” he said, looking at it cautiously, “is that really for me?”

“It is. Eat as much as you want,” Damien assured him, pushing the tray closer. The meal was nothing special to him, the quality something he was accustomed to, but he could tell Pip was hesitating. “Here.” Stabbing at a bite of pancake and fresh fruit, he lifted it towards Pip’s mouth without even thinking about the connotations. “Taste it.”

Pip just stared for a moment before slowly opening his mouth, letting Damien put it inside. He almost didn’t feel worthy of the delicious taste melting on his tongue, but it was too good for him to argue with it. “Mmm… that’s delicious!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Damien said, relaxing slightly as he handed over the fork to him. Chatting with him was becoming more natural, something that conversation had never come to before. 

“I really do love it, it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted!” Pip insisted, already shoveling the food down. He was absolutely starving. As soon as he felt even remotely full, though, his hunger turned quickly to shame. “I...um...I just don’t understand why you did all this for me. You hardly know me. I only met you twice and you saved my life. Your family is a crime syndicate, I didn’t imagine you would-- um, not to say anything poorly of that sort of life-- well, help someone like  _ me. _ ”

Damien just stared blankly. Now he really didn’t know how to respond. “You…” he averted his eyes, unable to look directly at him. “You caught my attention. I just wanted to have you.” He didn’t mean to be so blunt, but that was the reality of the situation. He was infatuated with Pip and had set his sights on him, and he had never failed to get something when he decided to have it. It was utterly selfish in just about every way but he didn’t know anything different.

“Oh...” Pip brought his knees to his chest, the tray long abandoned as he held himself tightly. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Damien was so tender under that tough outer shell, yet sometimes it was still difficult to see past his off-putting facade. “I’m glad I’m appealing to you,” Pip said cautiously, eyeing him. “Eric said it’s my best asset.”

Damien hated that the words didn’t formulate in his head fast enough, leaving a bit too much of a pause. “Being yourself is not an  _ asset _ .”

“Oh,” Pip said again, bewildered by his responses as he milled on it for a moment. “Do you…” He swallowed thickly, nervous to speak what he was thinking about. “Do you like me?  _ Like-like  _ me?”

“What does that mean?” Damien asked, furrowing his brow.

“Like, the  _ love  _ word,” Pip repeated a bit more bluntly.

Damien’s eyes went blank for a moment as he processed his question a second time within context. “Ah… I mean... I think I would like to.” He reached for his hand, trying to emulate something he considered romantic. “I think you are...uh, very  _ cute _ .”

Pip’s expression changed, almost distrusting for a split second as he was taken off guard. Words that had been whispered in his ear as hands slid down his pants couldn’t help but be associated with anything but a compliment.

“But not if you don’t like that!” Damien quickly sputtered, taking his turn to go red. “I’m not good at this stuff, let me try again-- I admire you, in a lot of ways.”

Pip quickly snapped back into reality with an awkward smile. “Oh no, you say it quite differently than others have. It’s alright.” Just something he had to get used to. This was not the man he ran away from. “And in turn, I find you...handsome. And kind. And wonderfully sweet! I didn’t expect it from someone like you.” He couldn’t believe how quickly he had become smitten. “Just the other night Tweek and I were talking about how nice it would be to find a prince charming, a-and… um...”

Damien raised a brow. “You think of me like that?”

“I was daydreaming about it ever since the first night I saw you.”

Damien never thought of himself as such a thing. He was a man to be feared and a man who brought fear. He was known amongst leaders of other gangs for his ruthlessness, his ability to kill in a single shot or flick of his wrist. He'd hurt people with his own bare hands, yet this frail little thing sitting beside him was absolutely convinced that Damien was the knight that had saved him. Damien nodded, chuckling to himself at the mere absurdity of what he’d gotten himself into. “Then I’ll do what I can for you.”

Pip grinned up at him. “Thank you… I’m glad to be here with you now.”

"Me too,” Damien said, giving the hand he held a cautious squeeze. “And if it’s alright...I have a question you haven’t answered yet.”

Pip just hummed curiously, looking up at him. “What’s that?”

“How did you end up with that scumbag in the first place? Like,  _ really  _ end up with him? I know you said it’s a debt but… I want the whole story.”

Pip was quiet a moment, almost embarrassed. “It’s quite long and complicated.”

“I have time,” Damien urged.

Pip closed his eyes tightly. “Um… I suppose I should start when I was little,” he said slowly. “I was born in England to not the best of parents. Drunkards, I was told, though I don’t remember them much. There was a car accident when I was a baby and I was orphaned. They have to put you somewhere, so at first it was orphanages, then somewhere along the line they sent me to the states to see if I would adjust better in a foster home. I bounced around a lot.”

“I know what that’s like,” Damien said quietly, seeming distant in thought.

Pip just nodded. “I got stuck with this one family for a while. They seemed like a nice Christian couple, you know the type. They thought it would be a good place for me, but it was far from it. They were nasty, terrible people… and one day, when I was seventeen, I couldn’t stand it anymore. That town, it was terrible, everyone there hated me, a-and…” He let out a sigh. “I was on the streets for maybe four years on my own before Eric found me. He promised me so much and I was desperate for help… you know what happened next.”

“He pulled his tricks and trapped you like a bug in a spiderweb,” Damien hissed bitterly, feeling an uncomfortable silence fall over them. What else could be said? The words of comfort felt heavy and foreign on his tongue, so he elected to say nothing.

Pip just mulled over his thoughts. This felt familiar. These  _ questions  _ felt familiar. “There was… an odd man last night,” he suddenly muttered, thinking out loud. “He asked me a lot of things a little after you fought with Eric. He didn’t want a dance, just wanted to talk.”

Now that caught Damien’s attention. “What did he look like? What did he ask?”

“He was tall,” Pip said nervously, “with red hair, and I think green eyes? They might have been brown. He was asking me about who I was, who Eric was, what he did… asked about you, actually, I don’t know why. That’s why I thought of it just now. It was suspicious.”

“Asked about me?” Those descriptions weren’t enough to tell if that was familiar or not. “Things like what?”

“He saw you fight with Eric, so he was asking about that. I confessed you wanted to bail me out, but Eric wouldn’t let you.”

“Hmm.” That seemed like a question anyone nosy enough would ask, but it still didn’t sit with him right. “I see. I’ll inform my father. We’ll stay on the down low for a few days and then perhaps go out somewhere to get you what you’ll need to stay with me. In the meantime, if you’re feeling up to it, would you like a tour of the place?”

Pip’s eyes lit up with something new, already tugging the hand he held as he leapt from the bed. “Boy, would I!” he gasped. If the bedroom was anything to go off of, this place had to be  _ gigantic _ . 

Damien let out another laugh, slowing him down enough so that he could take the lead instead. “I live here with my father and a few of our staff.” Opening the door into a large and beautifully decorated hallway, he made sure to check both directions to make sure Satan was not around before letting Pip out. “You can pick which way to go, just stay close.”

“It’s like an adventure!” Pip chirped childishly, already walking one direction towards the large, intricate staircase at the end of the hallway. “This place is so beautiful…”

“My father designed it.” If Damien had his way, it wouldn’t be all white and marble and tall ceilings. It felt too empty. “Four floors and a basement for two people is a little much if you ask me. Really all I do is go to the bedroom and down to the kitchen.”

“Kitchen,” Pip echoed, assuming that’s where the stairs would take him if he descended. “Let’s go this way!” With that he took off running, leaving Damien behind and entirely ignoring his directions to stay nearby as he made his way down. 

He went so fast that he ran right into the chest of another much larger man, knocking himself down onto the ground just at the base of the stairwell.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man said, looking down at him in surprise. He towered over Pip, a somewhat serious look on his face before he burst into laughter. “Damien, I didn’t know he was your  _ boyfriend _ , you could have said something rather than hide him upstairs.”

Damien’s face went red as a tomato, steam near coming out of his ears. “Yes, well, he’s getting a tour right now,” he said, gritting his teeth as he rocked awkwardly on his heels. “So you should let us be.”

Pip ignored him, offering a shaking hand as he scrambled to his feet. “Hello sir! I’m Phillip! Damien brought me from the strip club!”

Again the man laughed, taking it with a shake of his head. What an odd little character. When he imagined someone for Damien, he’d always envisioned someone a little too edgy or dark for his personal tastes. This boy? He looked like a puppy with eyes too large for his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Phillip. I’m Damien’s father, but most people like to call me… Satan.”

Pip shook his hand enthusiastically despite Damien seeming impatient for them to get on with their greeting. “It’s very nice to meet you! I really like your son, he is very kind and sweet and generous. Thank you for letting me stay here in your home.” He did his best to be polite, still not quite understanding the scope of Satan’s work but knowing it was best to stay on his good side.

“Never heard anyone call Damien ‘sweet’ before, but if you like him you’re welcome to stick around,” he teased. He looked back to Damien, utterly enamoured with his pick. “You make sure to get him breakfast.”

“Already done.” Damien kept his distance.

“And make sure you get one of the maids to measure him for a proper suit, yes?”

“Yes sir.”

Satan looked back down to Pip, finally letting go of the hand he had shaken. “Enjoy your stay here. I’m sure you’ll find it to be a welcome change from where you used to be.”

“How did you know--” Pip started, but before he could finish Satan had already left. He instead looked to Damien, a burning question on his tongue. “You did not say ‘good morning’ or ‘hello’ to him, don’t you love your father?”

Damien ignored his question, instead grabbing for his hand again. “Keep walking, I didn’t finish the tour.”

“You should be very thankful you have someone as nice as him to care for you!” Pip said, furrowing his brow. He let it go, though, as Damien took him down a different hallway. “I surely would be.”

Damien wouldn’t look at him, his face going uncomfortable. “He tries his best. Look, here’s the library, do you like to read?” He only hoped it would be enough of a distraction to end the conversation.

“I do, but that’s not what I asked about,” Pip said stubbornly, but the door before him was swinging open and he was met with another beautiful sight. This room was huge, covered in walls of bookshelves and comfortable places to sit and a large desk covered in papers. “Wow!”

Damien breathed a sigh of relief, thankful it was working as he led him inside. “Take a look around, we have all the time in the world.”

Pip did just that, leaving Damien side as he looked around with curiosity. There were so many old books, it had to be a multi-generational collection. “It’s amazing,” he breathed, attention drawn to the wall near the desk. Dozens of portraits and photographs decorated the space, gold frames accentuating their value. “What are these?”

“Family members. Colleagues.” Damien paced quietly beside him, watching Pip carefully look over each one. “People of little importance to me.”

Pip narrowed his eyes, bringing his face close to an image of several well dressed people grouped together. It was easy to spot Damien’s father in the middle, the photograph appearing slightly yellowed with age. He certainly looked a bit younger. Unable to help himself, he extended a finger to point to a young woman standing to his left. “Is this your mother?” he blurted.

“No.”

Pip glanced over his shoulder for only a moment before looking back to the photo. There was another woman a bit more left. “Is  _ this  _ your mother?”

“ _ No _ ,” Damien said again, slightly more annoyed this time.

“Is  _ this  _ your--”

“None of them are my mother,” Damien snapped quickly, grabbing for his wrist to pull it away from the picture. “My mother was never involved in crime, and she is dead. So is my birth father.”

Pip froze in utter confusion. “Your father… is not your father?”

“Not biologically.” Damien dropped Pip’s hand, turning to pace again in the uncomfortable silence. “He adopted me when I was a baby. There was a freak accident involving his men targeting the wrong apartment. Shot them both dead in the middle of the living room while their infant son cried in the bedroom. He felt so bad about orphaning me that he took me in as his own.” He spoke matter-of-fact, voice void of any emotion. “He has raised me but I have little emotional attachment. He is a mentor. He needed an heir.”

Pip’s expression fell. “Do you love him? He seems to love you.”

“He tries his best, but he did not plan for a child.” Damien’s eyes were cold. “I have spent most my life alone until I was of use to him as a teenager. His efforts are valiant, though. I appreciate the gestures.”

Pip just nodded, eyes on the floor. Perhaps Damien’s odd attitude and outlook on life had a reason after all. “We’re more similar than we thought, huh?” he said, offering a weak smile.

“I suppose so,” Damien said, unable to help cracking one of his own.


End file.
